Angel Dust
by Queen of Kaos
Summary: New Epilogue posted December 08. Power. Sex. Drugs. Passion. What's Your Addiction? Rated for ADULT themes death, sex, drugs, etc. AU starring Batista, Orton, Nitro, OC. Appearances by Eddie Guerrero and Trish Stratus.
1. Saying Goodbye

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: For those of you who are true fans of my work - those who read everything I write - I feel like I owe you this caution: This is NOT a normal Queen of Kaos story. First of all, it's AU - meaning it's starring a few faces you know from the WWE, but they're not wrestlers. Also, though most of my stories have been rated M, this one contains adult subject matter, and I don't just mean some fuck words and a little sex. Strong drug themes, as well as death, and what comes after, are discussed in this story. An open mind, and the ability to take yourself out of the world in which these characters usually exist, is essential in reading this piece. **

**I am incredibly proud of this story and am, in no way, apologizing for any of the content. I just felt that, out of respect for those of you who have supported me thus far, I should, at least, warn you.**

**As always, your reviews are welcomed. And I hope you all Enjoy!

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"Sweetheart, I am so sorry for your loss."

Courtney Lane gave the elderly woman's hand a squeeze and smiled slightly. "Thank you," she nodded graciously. "How did you know him?"

Trying to focus her attention on the same story she had already heard a thousand times over the last few hours, Courtney shifted her weight from one black pump to the other and pushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

Not for the first time in the afternoon, she thanked her lucky stars that she had been raised the daughter of a United States senator. Being brought up a debutant with the best private schooling had taught her well how to deal with people who were bouncing on her last nerve.

And as time wore on, Courtney found that today was all about nerves. The nerve of people who barely knew her husband, all parading past his casket, pretending to be broken-hearted over his death. The nerve of his co-workers, showing up in tears over the loss of man they could barely stand during office hours. The nerve of their families, to stand to her right and left as though they were posing for some social page photo-op instead of grieving the loss of a man they all loved.

As the woman passed by, Courtney looked to her left, smiling at her father. "Daddy, I'm going to freshen up a bit," she whispered.

The senator nodded and patted his only daughter's back gently as she stepped away from the crowd and into a long, dim hallway. Finding her wool coat, she pulled it tightly around her thin frame and slipped out the back door. Three hours of meeting with fake-ass people who pretended to give a damn about her husband was not her idea of an enjoyable afternoon.

Lighting a cigarette, she smiled at the memory of the moment she had first laid eyes on Dave Batista. She had been a third year Communications student at Columbia, prepping for life in her father's footsteps. As a segment producer for ABC news, his first duty had been a piece about Vermont senator Sean Lane.

Exhaling, she chuckled slightly at the way he had slipped her his business card and told her to call if she ever wanted to dish on her famous father. She had called a week later to tell him she was ready to talk, but when they met for dinner, the conversation never quite made it to her dad.

For nearly a year, they kept things low key. She finished school, he built his reputation as one of the most determined and talented producers in television news. And when they finally made an appearance together, at the Emmy Awards, the world took notice. He was one of People Magazine's "Sexiest Men Alive" that year, and he was dating the daughter of the newest Presidential hopeful.

Of course, it was risky. They both knew there had to be a conflict of interest there somewhere, but their attraction to one another was stronger than they cared to fight. They were infamous for working hard, and playing harder. Tabloids couldn't get enough of the politically powerful and stunningly beautiful couple, especially their rumored affinity for strip clubs and party drugs. But nothing had ever been proven, and they often laughed at how the attention didn't seem to hurt their careers.

Sucking another drag on her cigarette, Courtney thought about the night Dave had proposed to her. Her father had lost his bid for the presidency, and she had been more than a little broken-hearted. All of the work she had put in seemed for naught, and there was nothing that would put her glowing smile back in place. Until he dropped to one knee in the living room of their little DC apartment.

They were married fourteen months later, in a ceremony fit for celebrities. Things hadn't always been smooth, but even as she finished her cigarette, Courtney had to admit that there hadn't been a single moment she would have changed. And for all of his faults and flaws, she wouldn't have changed anything about him, either.

"Those things will kill you, ya know," a deep voice sounded behind her. Turning on her heel, she smiled at Randy Orton. He had been Dave's assistant at the station for the last three years, and his sidekick out of the office since day one. He was at their house more than he was at his own, and Courtney couldn't help but smile when he stood beside her and nudged her with his shoulder.

"So will cocaine. But I think I saw you snortin' that last weekend, Orton," she winked.

He shook his head. "Nah, I think you have me confused with your husband," he smiled and then shook his head. "Why does that feel like the wrong joke to crack right now?"

Leaning her head back, Courtney let herself laugh. "Are you fucking kidding? It's true," she sighed, shaking her blonde locks and turning twinkling eyes to the pavement. "I mean, I know there's a level of decorum to be maintained on an occasion like this, but for fuck's sake, man," she sighed, digging into her pocket to light another cigarette. "Dave was a great professional, and a hell of a guy, but he was no fuckin' saint."

Randy offered her a light and nodded his head in concession. "Fucker owed me a hundred bucks," he chuckled.

Crossing her arms, she nodded and rolled her eyes. "What was this one for?" she asked good-naturedly. At least with Randy, she knew she could count on honesty. If anyone at this shindig would remember Dave as he was, not as they wished he had been, it was the man beside her.

"Stupid son of a bitch thought Alexander was gonna run all over Pittsburgh in the Bowl," he laughed, shaking his head and pocketing the cash. "I know it ain't right to speak ill of the dead, but come on, Court," he sighed.

Though she smiled at him, the weight of the past week's events seemed to crash in on her in that moment. With her hands in her pockets, she looked at Randy with wide brown eyes. "The media's gonna have a field day when this story breaks for real," she told him.

Randy nodded. "Does your father know what really happened?"

Shaking her head and raising her eyebrow, Courtney almost laughed. "Are you kidding me? I fully intend to be out of the country before that shit comes down."

She was good at masking her emotions - a true politician through and through. But Randy could see, just behind her eyes. She was hurting, and she didn't know how to express it. "Come here," he said, pulling her into his arms without warning.

Pressed against his expensive suit, breathing in a scent not unlike Dave's, Courtney allowed herself to let go, even just a little. She wouldn't cry - certainly not today, maybe not for a long time - but she would let him see her pain. "What are we gonna do, Orton?" she asked quietly.

"We're gonna live our lives. I can talk shit about Dave all day, but the fucker knew how to live," he whispered, kissing the top of her head.

Stepping back, she nodded and sniffled slightly. "Can you just tell my mom and dad that I'll be in shortly?" He walked back inside the building as Courtney gripped the railing and looked out over the city once more. "I miss you already, Lover," she whispered.

Little did she know, her tiny voice was heard on the other side of the Great Beyond. "Me, too, Princess. Me, too."


	2. I Promise

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: I say "thanks for the reviews" a lot, but I don't think I've ever meant it as much as I do this time. You guys don't know how scared I was to post this story, and to have so many of you open yourselves to the concept means more to me than you could possibly know. To Vera, thank you a million times over for encouraging my ideas and for being an all-around AMAZING friend. I don't know what I'd do without you. And to Keira, thanks for helping me with the names, and for letting me know that I can't please everyone - just do what I think is best for my story. You're the best, girlie.**

**It might help you, in reading this story, to know that Courtney is heavily inspired by actress Scarlett Johansson, who I am so in love with right now, it's bordering on obscene. Other than that, I disclaim on the names you know, and claim on the ones you don't. Enjoy!

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_Carrying two steaming cups of espresso, Courtney padded through the living room on bare feet, the soft carpet tickling her toes as she handed one of the mugs to Dave and then snuggled under his arm on the couch. _

"_I love your arms," she smiled, kissing the fingers on his left hand as the lightly brushed the side of her face._

_Dave sat his coffee mug on the end table and pulled her into his lap, enveloping her in a huge hug. "They love you, too," he whispered, kissing the side of her face._

_His broad shoulders, strong arms, and firm hands were the reason she had fallen for him in the first place. Not just because his tailored suits hung from them so effortlessly, but because he had a way of making her feel safe and loved, every time they were close._

_She snuggled closer to his warmth and then turned her face back to the television, resting her head against his shoulder. "What are we watching?"_

_His finger danced over her flannel pajamas as he laid his cheek on her head. "Travel channel," he smiled. "Have you ever been to Italy, Princess?"_

_She sighed and shook her head. "No. I think it's the only place in the world that I've always wanted to go, but never had the chance."_

_Pressing his lips to the side of her head, he breathed in the scent of shampoo on her freshly washed hair and then whispered in her ear, "Someday, Princess, I promise to take you to Italy."_

He had known that death was a probability for quite some time. He told her early on that he lived too fast, partied too hard, and took too many chances in life. He was sure that it would kill him before he turned fifty, but he enjoyed his life too much to stop.

On their first date, he had told her, _"I'm not even sure some people realize when they've died. They lead aimless, miserable lives and by the time they leave, tripping out of this life and into the next is probably just a mild stumbling block. I want to live my life so hard, to experience everything so fully, that when I die, I know it."_

He had known, and he had been prepared. Sure, he wiggled his way out of bets with Randy all the time. He used every possible form of manipulation and deception to score huge interviews and make a name for himself. But he had never, and would never, break a promise to his Princess.

So when, in his will, he left her a private villa in Stintino, on the Italian island of Sardinia, Courtney had been touched, but she wasn't surprised. Dave had always promised to take her to Italy, and he had always promised to protect her. The villa did both.

When word that one of the country's most respected news men had died from a cocaine overdose, the media machine kicked into high gear. Courtney found there was nowhere she could turn without flashbulbs blinding her view, and a tape recorder in her face. The Lanes had been described as this generation's Kennedys. And nothing made the tabloid presses happier than a scandal amongst their own version of royalty.

Her original plan had been to live in the villa for a few months, and then return to Washington to resume her childhood dream – a Senate seat by her 30th birthday. But upon arriving in the small fishing village, she found that Dave had also delivered on one more promise – one that she had nearly forgotten.

"_You look tired."_

"_I'm exhausted." She slid her glasses off and placed them on the bedside table, smiling at him over the top of her laptop. "Lobbying against corporate financing is hard," she whined with a pouty expression._

_His deep, rumbling laughter had filled their small bedroom as he pulled the computer off her lap and laid it on the floor beside the bed. Grabbing her hips, he pulled her over him, until she was straddling his stomach, and he rubbed her thighs softly. "So why do you do it?"_

_Slinging her hair to one side, she rolled her hips as she felt his stiffening erection against her ass. "Because the harder I work now," she moaned as his fingers moved under her nightgown. "The earlier I can retire," she smiled, a deep growl escaping her throat as his thumb found her swollen clit and nudged it._

"_Why would you wanna retire early, Princess?" he asked, a satisfied smirk on his lips as she closed her eyes and wriggled against his skin. Her wetness against his bare stomach was about to be more than he could stand. Not that he would ever admit that to her._

_Abandoning his fingers on her nub, he lifted her hips and lowered her, sheathing himself deeply inside her inviting warmth. Courtney fought like hell to keep her train of thought. "The earlier we retire, Lover, the sooner we can start spending our lazy days on some Mediterranean beach," she gasped her fantasy future as she rode him toward a fierce orgasm. "Sleeping in. . . Espresso and Biscotti on our veranda. . . Fucking in the sun. . . No photographers. . .Oh GOD," she hissed through clenched teeth._

_Even as her body shuddered and collapsed against his, he pushed her blonde locks from her face and kissed her temple. "Oh, you'll have that life someday, Princess. I promise."_

Maybe he hadn't intended for her to stay there. She knew that he never would have guessed she would buy a coffee shop in the heart of downtown, content to live her life as the caffeine hook-up for locals and tourists who stopped by her comforting little shop. But she was happy. As happy as she could be without him.

"Courtney Lane," an amused voice sounded across the counter from her.

Looking up, Courtney felt all of the wind in her lungs escape. "What are you doing here?" she asked, an excited laugh escaping her lips as she threw her rag down and ran around the side of the counter. "How did you find me?"

Dave's attorney, Ric Flair, just enveloped her in a tight hug and laughed again. "Your father," he admitted, holding her shoulders as he stepped back and looked her over. "You haven't changed a bit, Courtney," he winked.

She nodded and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She had changed in innumerable ways, but she knew those ways weren't visible. And she wasn't about to talk to him about them, either. "Ric, what are you doing here?" she asked again, walking back around the counter and fixing him a cup of coffee.

Ric stood at the counter and opened his briefcase. "I'm actually here on business, Sweetheart," he cleared his throat and withdrew a large, manila envelope. "You know what today is, right?"

With her back turned, she nearly dropped the small mug in her hand. Taking a moment to collect her emotions, she cleared her throat and turned with a forced smile. "Yes, I do," she admitted.

Sliding the envelope across the counter, Ric held her gaze, as though searching for some crack in the Courtney Lane exterior. But, as usual, there wasn't one. She was tough as nails, and that wasn't going to change.

"I was given very strict instructions to make sure you got this envelope today," Ric stated, raising the coffee to his lips as Courtney stared at the counter. She made no attempt to take it in her possession, but watched it closely, as though it would soon take on a life of it's own. "It's from Dave," Ric added.

Courtney nodded numbly, her eyes drawn to her husband's elegant script on the front of the envelope. "Courtney Lane-Batista. My Princess. Always." An involuntary shudder ran down her spine, and if she believed in the supernatural, she would have sworn he was standing there with her at that moment. Of course, she had felt that more times than she could count over the course of the last year.

Turning her attention to a few tourists who entered the shop, Courtney put on her happy face and chatted comfortably with the couple from Albuquerque. Wordlessly, Ric laid a few coins on the counter, smiled at her slightly, and left the shop. She would read the letter when she was ready. He wasn't there to force her.

Traffic through the coffee shop picked up after Ric's departure, and after closing and cleaning up, Courtney finally turned her attention to the envelope he had left behind. Sitting on the floor behind the counter, she pulled her knees to her chest and ran a long fingernail under the flap. Withdrawing the heavy ivory paper, she sucked in a deep breath and began to read.

_My Princess,_

_If you're reading this letter, it must mean my luck ran out exactly one year ago today. I hope you enjoy the villa, and that you get a chance to drink espresso and eat Biscotti overlooking the Mediterranean in the morning. I hope the media attention isn't TOO outrageous. I know we can be heartless bastards when there's a story to expose, and I'm sorry that you will be left to carry that on your own. Though I can't imagine anyone else would handle such a scandal with the grace and dignity that you will, without a doubt, carry yourself._

_Now onto the real reason I'm sending you this letter from "beyond the grave."_

Bracing herself for what he had to say, she leaned against the counter behind her and gripped the paper until her knuckles turned white. For the first time in months, tiny tears pricked the backs of her eyes.

_I have loved you, at least in part, since the moment I laid eyes on you in your father's kitchen. You werestunning, so confident. I remember that night in my office. Two in the morning, too much wine and take -out. The look on your face when I laid you on my desk. The way you whispered my name, like we should know better. The way you screamed it, like nothing else fucking mattered._

_I have done things to make our lives harder, and you have never complained. I have made decisions that have rattled our relationship, and you have never waivered. You have done favors for me, knowing full well they were not in my best interest. You have run errands for me, knowing that they were only going to make things worse for yourself. And you have bailed me out of so many occasions, knowing that I would stupidly put myself right back in those situations, sometimes mere days later._

She almost smiled at his analysis of their relationship. He was right, but none of those times seemed important now. She would have gladly gone on a midnight run to his dealer's house if it meant having him back with her again.

_No one in my life sacrificed more to be with me, to see me happy, to let me be myself, then you did, Princess. And now I have one final request for you: **Live your life**._

Rolling her eyes, Courtney shook her head slightly and chuckled as she read the next line.

_And stop making that face. I know you, Courtney Elizabeth Lane-Batista, and I know you're rolling your eyes and thinking something like "What do you think I've been doing, jackass?" And the answer is "Existing." Stop._

"Cocky motherfucker," she laughed, wiping tears with the back of her hand.

_I died, Princess. You didn't. Spend a day on a yacht. Lie naked in the sun. Throw a party. Get a lap dance. Drink something other than espresso or aged wine. Fall in love. Go ahead, read it again. And then do it. Because you are never as radiant as you are in the glow of love._

_Be beautiful for me, my Donna Bella._

_Always,_

_Dave_

She read the letter again and then carefully placed it back in the envelope. She wasn't sure how she was supposed to live without him. But he had asked her to – and she had never been able to say "no" to Dave Batista.


	3. Happy Anniversary

**Angel Dust

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_Orton,_

_First of all, enclosed you'll find a hundred bucks. I'm sure I owe you for something. And if I don't, give it to charity or something. And yes, I'm laughing even as I write that sentence._

_I don't know what you're doing now, though if it doesn't involve running the network, I'm disappointed. You're on the fast track, Kid. And I know I never say sappy shit like this now, but since I won't be around by the time you read this, I can afford a little "mush." You're a damn good producer, and you deserve to be at the top of the ladder. I hope this letter finds you perched there comfortably._

_But you know that's not why I'm writing. I need a favor from ya, man. It involves Courtney and the request is simple: Find her. Look at the villa in Italy. Make sure she's doing well. _

_If she is, great and thanks for checking. If she's not, bring her home. Make her happy, Orton. You spent three years watching me work, learning your craft. But more importantly, you saw me love her. You know how much she means to me. And you're the only one who will care for her the way it needs to be done._

_We both know there's not a lot of people I can trust in the world. But I am entrusting you with the single most important thing in the world. Don't fuck it up. _

_I'll be watching you,_

_Dave_

Randy Orton clutched the envelope containing Dave's letter in his left hand, and loosely held a yellow rose in his right. The dark sunglasses he had worn to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun on the Mediterranean were now pushed onto the top of his head, and the sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled to his elbows.

Knocking firmly on the door of the villa, Randy cast a glance over his faded jeans and noticed a scuff on the toe of his shoe. Rolling his eyes, he shrugged it off and focused on the task at hand. If he was honest, he still didn't really know why he was even there.

_Because that crazy motherfucker still has me runnin' errands for him_, Randy reminded himself, raising his hand to knock again.

Before his fist came down the second time, the door flew open and he gasped. She was as beautiful as ever. "Hey," he smiled.

Drawing a deep breath, Courtney stared into the bluest eyes she had ever known, her jaw dropping. "Well, if it isn't Randy fucking Orton," she laughed, shaking off the initial shock and opening the front door for him.

Stepping inside the villa, Randy took a moment to skim the room. It wasn't all that different from the apartment she had shared with Dave in DC. A little roomier, and more sparsely decorated, but color pallet was similar, with it's rich burgundy and warm gold tones. And the sculptures that occupied empty spaces on the floor, paintings on the walls, and photos on the end tables were all familiar.

"Not bad, huh?" Courtney asked from behind him as he turned on his heel and smiled down at her.

She hadn't changed – physically. Her blonde hair was a bit longer, flowing over her shoulders in waves, but her style and grace were ever-present, just as they always had been. There was a distance behind her dark eyes, but he had expected that.

Extending the rose to her, he said, "Happy Anniversary, Court."

With a good-natured grin, she accepted the flower and took it to the kitchen, setting it in water before returning. "I see he got to you, too," she smirked at the envelope in Randy's hand, sinking to an oversized chair and nodding toward the couch.

Setting the envelope at his side, Randy lowered his lean, muscular frame to the couch and crossed one ankle over his opposite knee. Re-adjusting the sleeves of his shirt, he settled back and watched as she lit a cigarette and waited for his explanation.

He withdrew the money and flashed her a smile. "For once in his sorry life, he paid up," was all he could manage before a round of emotion he wasn't expecting smacked him in the gut. Courtney diverted her gaze, exhaling a long line of smoke as she allowed him to collect himself. "He sent this, too," he finally said, withdrawing a dvd from the package.

Nodding to the television, Courtney finished her cigarette and waited for Randy to start the film. She was expecting something extraordinary. Perhaps a message from him. It wouldn't be out of the question after the letters. But what roared to life when Randy pressed "play" was beyond anything she could have imagined.

There, in Technicolor Surround Sound, was Dave, larger than life. _Wearing a white tank top and holding a bottle of Guiness, he grinned like an idiot as he walked through a raucous crowd of inebriated partiers. He kept throwing looks over his shoulder, boasting to the camera about an interview he had just secured with Russian President, Vladimir Putin._

_"For fuck's sake," Randy's voice was heard as Dave continued through the crowded halls of the house. "You're the only fucker I know who gets wasted and talks about world leaders," the young man laughed off-camera._

Courtney laughed at that, pressing the butt of her cigarette into the glass tray on the arm of her chair. "Remember the night he smoked that bowl on the balcony in Amsterdam? Fucker spent three hours talking about the socio-economic oppression of post-Apartheid South Africa." Randy smiled and nodded. "He was the most fucked up basehead I've ever met," she laughed to herself again.

_Dave opened a heavy oak door at the end of the hallway. "There's my Princess," he beamed with pride as the camera panned to a couch in the corner. _

_Courtney's appearance that night was anything but "politically correct." Dressed in a barely-there halter top and a micro-mini, she lounged lazily under the haze of the joint between her fingers. "Hey, boys," she greeted, her husky voice dripping with sensual invitation. "I thought you were coming right back."_

_Kneeling on the couch, Dave hovered above her and dropped a light kiss on her forehead. "I'm back now," was the only apology he offered. Thrusting his hand into the back pocket of his dark jeans, he produced a small baggy of pure, white powder. "With the good shit."_

_She smiled and kissed him passionately, her tongue running over his bottom lip until he opened his mouth and allowed her access. By the time Randy cleared his throat and lowered the camera, Courtney's knees were spread and Dave was cradled comfortably between them. _

"_Alright. Find me if you need a ride home, okay?" Randy laughed from the television, only his shoes visible on the screen._

"_Wait," Dave's voice insisted. "I want you to film something for me."_

_There was a laugh from Randy as he raised the camera and pointed it at himself._ Courtney smiled at the man on her couch as he appeared on the television. With a knowing grin, Randy shrugged his shoulders.

"_I just wanna point out, for the record, that this kinky motherfucker is clearly blasted if he thinks I'ma forego a dick sucking from one of those eager bitches out there just to play his cameraman for some fucked up porn." He turned the focus back to Dave. "Fuck you, Crackhead."_

_Dave was shaking his head and sitting back against the arm over the couch. With his hands on Courtney's thighs, he pulled her toward him, until she was laying flat. Lifting the bag for her to see, he licked his lips and winked at her. "Wanna help me cut this line, Princess?"_

_Turning doubtful eyes to the camera, Courtney shook her head. She was fucked, but not enough to film either of them engaged in illegal activity. "Not on tape," she told him._

But "no" wasn't a word Dave understood. Both she and Randy watched in rapt attention as _Dave slid his hand up her skirt, his fingers disappearing from view of the camera as Courtney's eyes drifted shut and she emitted a loud hiss. _

_"I promise to keep this one all for myself, Princess. Nobody will ever see it, okay?" Biting her bottom lip, she focused on what his fingers were doing to her clit. "Just this once?" She nodded as he withdrew his fingers and began to sprinkle the white powder against her toned stomach. His gaze never left her enraptured face as he held his hand out toward the camera._

_An arm, covered in jagged black ink, came into view, as though Randy had been ready for the request. With concentration etched on his features, Dave began to run the flat edge of a credit card over Courtney's abdomen, forming a thin line of powder that started in the middle of her stomach, and ended at her navel. _

_Finally satisfied with his creation, Dave winked at the camera and then hovered over Courtney once more. "Be still, Princess," he whispered, softly massaging her thighs while he dropped a few light kisses on the tender skin below her navel. He then bent low and placed a finger to the side of his nose. _

_Slowly, deliberately, he snorted the line._ And even as she watched it two years later, Courtney could still feel the tip of his nose, and his upper lip, brushing her skin as he moved. Squeezing her thighs together in the chair, she found herself drawn to the way he groaned, _"So good," as he sat back from her and offered her a smile._

_Without warning, he gathered her legs and put them over his shoulders. Turning back to Randy, he ordered, "Keep your focus on her face."_

The room around them was silent, filled only with Courtney's moans and groans from the speakers as her image on the screen twisted in pleasure. "Damn, that tongue," she mused in a slight whisper.

_As she screamed out, and then laid back peacefully on the couch, Randy's voice was heard. "Are you done?" Dave smirked at the camera, and then the screen went dark._

Shifting against a tightness he wished to hell wasn't there, Randy met the eye of the woman who had just turned him on without intent. "So, how's it goin'?" he asked.

Laughing, Courtney lit another cigarette and shrugged. "I miss him, Orton." Her voice cracked. "A lot."

It was in that moment that Randy knew exactly why he was there. She had spent the last year running from everything that reminded her of Dave. Though she would deny it – insist that she was immersing herself in all of the dreams they had shared, he could see it. He was there because she was hiding in the one place on the planet they had never seen together. And more than Courtney wanted to remember Dave, she wanted the pain of remembering to stop.

Nodding, Randy stared at his knee. "Me, too," he admitted as she furiously blinked back a barrage of tears.

He knew why Dave had sent him there. He knew his mission. But he wasn't entirely convinced that he was the man for the job, or that he wanted to be. He knew they were both crippled by that man's absence, and he wasn't sure he was any stronger than she was at the moment.

With an expression of deep concern, Dave watched as Randy moved to the chair and cradled Courtney in his arms. For a year, he had watched them both put on their strongest faces to enter the worlds in which they now existed. And then he had watched them come home and crumble, sometimes openly weeping at his memory.

"Stop fucking crying and get the fuck over it," he mumbled.

From behind him, a soothing voice spoke. "There might be a way, Mr. Batista, for you to help them."


	4. Touched by an Angel

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: So this chapter is kinda long, but there was a lot to explain, so I hope you don't mind. Also, I'm not sure how much updating I'll get to do in the next few days, as I'm in the process of moving to a new place. Hopefully, this will hold you all over until I get a chance to update again. Thanks again for the great reviews - you guys are awesome and I mean it when I say I love you all for giving this story a chance. I hope you Enjoy!**

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They walked for what seemed like an eternity. Dave followed the small, blonde woman in the white lab coat through hall after identical hall, finally stopping outside a heavy chrome door, which was also identical to every other door he had seen.

"What are we doing?" he asked. She turned and smiled at him coyly. "Ya know, I was kind of in the middle of something back there." She rolled her dark eyes and pushed the door open with her shoulder.

As Dave entered, he thought about his first moments here, on the Other Side. If he focused, he could still remember his chest tightening. _His blood pulsed thickly, as though he could feel it slowing to a stop in his veins. His stomach lurched._

_And the world as he knew it disappeared. That was it. He was dead. And he knew it._

_Opening his eyes for the first time, he nearly laughed. "Death is like Star Trek," he thought as his gaze drifted around a futuristic, high-tech room with white walls and chrome machinery. "Without all the hot alien chicks."_

"_David Batista. You're awake," a young man in a lab coat stated, as though the man lying before him might not be aware._

"_This is hell?" Dave asked, sitting up on the table._

_The young man shook his head. "Heaven and hell, as you have come to hear of them, do not exist, Mr. Batista," he informed the much larger man before him. "This is all there is – what you will see here. The good and the bad, they all arrive here."_

_The young man, who had flatly introduced himself as Joey Styles, took him on a short tour of the nondescript white halls, before stopping before a large silver door._

"_This is your room," Joey said. _

"_Home Sweet Home," Dave sighed, pushing the door open with his shoulder._

_Little did he know that home was exactly what rested on the other side of that door. Down to the smallest detail, his "room" was an exact replica of the apartment he had shared with Courtney for the last three years. "What is this?" he asked._

_Joey stood just outside the doorway, the same blank expression on his face that he had carried all day. "Each person, upon arrival, is given a room that best represents his or her most vivid memories, be they good or bad. Yours," he nodded, "Each of them, without fail, contain her," he nodded to a platform in the center of the room._

_With a flicker and a start, an image sprang to life on the platform, and Dave found his heart jump into his throat when Courtney reached out a thin hand to touch his face in the casket. It was as if she was right there in his living room. "How did you?" Dave started._

_The young man stepped into the room. "This is your connection to the living, Mr. Batista. Any time you want to know what's going on with anyone you care about, you concentrate on the platform and think of their name or image. They will appear, in Real Time, just as they are on earth." He explained things as if he were speaking to a small child, clear but without frustration. _

"_Can I. . ." he looked up, his hand poised in the air. "Can I touch her?"_

_Nodding, Joey motioned for Dave to reach out a hand. "You can touch her, talk to her, watch her. Basically, you can do anything you would have done with her when you were alive," he explained. _

_Dave raised an eyebrow. "Anything?"_

_It wasn't the first time Joey had heard the question. "She can't see or hear you. She will have an awareness of your presence. As for the other things you have in mind. . . no, you can't," he shifted uncomfortably. Regaining his composure, he straightened his tie and leaned against one of the chairs in Dave's room. "There is a catch, of course."_

_Unable to tear his eyes away from Courtney, Dave grunted slightly. "Catch?"_

"_You can only be in as much contact with the living as they will allow. As time passes, and memories fade, you will find it more and more difficult to reach them. As they forget the sound of your voice, you won't be able to speak to them anymore. When they forget the feeling of your fingers on their skin, you won't be able to touch them." He narrowed his eyes slightly and nodded toward the image of Courtney once more. "When she accepts the embrace of another man, you won't be able to comfort her." He said nothing more, only disappeared from sight._

_His words hit Dave like a truck in that instant. He hadn't said "IF they forget. . ." He had said "WHEN." Someday, Courtney would begin to forget him. And though the letter he had written her a few months ago encouraged her to move on in his absence, Dave wasn't sure he liked the idea of being forgotten._

"Mr. Batista?" The blonde's voice drew him back to the present as he shook his head and narrowed his eyes. "Please come in."

Stepping through the doorway, Dave instantly felt a chill. This room was not like any of the others he had seen. It was empty. He was surrounded on all sides by gray, uninviting concrete. "What the hell?" he asked in confusion.

"Relax, Dave," a boisterous voice laughed from the corner.

Turning, Dave's expression drifted from one of perplexity to one of knowing realization. "Of course you had something to do with this," he laughed as his good friend, Eddie Guerrero, pushed off the wall and extended a hand.

The two men had developed a friendship in college, one that continued to thrive even when they took different paths to career success. While they both found their success in the media, Eddie's had been in front of the camera. As an A-List movie star, his troubles with drugs and alcohol had been well-documented. And his recovery had been even more widely-publicized.

Even Dave had been happy for his friend when Eddie announced that he was going to focus on his family, and on being clean, after years of partying hard at his friend's side. So when he had died suddenly, apparently of a heart attack, the world had mourned in shock and disbelief. For the first time in his life, Dave found himself openly weeping in a televised interview with Charles Gibson as he recalled memories of his old friend.

But they were once again reunited, inseparable, on the other side. And Dave was fairly certain that there were days it would have been unbearable without his friend's humor and encouragement. Though they were no longer sharing a pipe, they found other ways to occupy their time – usually watching the ones they loved while sharing drinks and laughs.

Eddie shook his head. "Oh, no, Homes," he shook his head as he released Dave's hand. "This is all Trish's doing." The blank look on Dave's face put another smile on Eddie's lips. "You haven't been formally introduced?"

Stepping forward, the blonde thrust her hand forward. "Trish Stratus," she said confidently, wrapping her thin hand around Dave's considerably larger one. "I was always a big fan of yours," she added.

Dave smiled slightly at the compliment, but then blinked again. "What the hell is going on here?" He didn't scare easily, but this whole thing felt a little shifty. "You said I could help Courtney," he spat, remembering her words from earlier.

With a nod, Trish stepped toward the middle of the room, her eyes focused in rapt concentration. In a flash, Courtney's image appeared. Dave's heart nearly broke as he watched his wife crying herself to sleep. "You want her to stop crying for you?"

He nodded, once again taken with her beauty. It was as if death had only made his love for her stronger. Watching her wander through life, seemingly aimless in her attempts to put the past behind her and move forward, was hard for him. He had loved her focus, her determination, and her tenacity. The woman he watched clutching a pillow to muffle her strangled sobs was not his wife.

"Tell him," Eddie encouraged, a smile on his face as wide as his Texas homeland.

Dave looked from one of them to the other and then back to Courtney as she rolled over in the bed, exposing her body from the waist up. Though his emotions, and his spirit, were still fully aroused at the sight of her naked form, he wondered if he would ever grow accustomed to the fact that his body could not react. He had watched her shower, sleep, and masturbate more times than he could count over the last year, but with blood no longer circulating through his body, he had nothing to touch in response to her beauty.

As Dave let out a groan, Trish put a hand on his arm. "Mr. Batista, I'm an angel," she started. He rolled his eyes. "Seriously."

Looking at her critically, he finally shrugged his shoulders. "So?"

"She moves between the living and the dead," Eddie finally explained, unable to hold his excitement back any longer. "She can exist here, and on Earth. We can see her, and so can they."

His friend was laughing, but Dave was sure he was missing something. So what if this angel could go to Earth? How was that supposed to help him? Or Courtney? "And?" he finally asked.

With her hands on her hips, Trish shook her head. "And I can talk to Courtney for you," she laid it out simply. The look of shock on Dave's face made her smile.

"But I thought Joey said there was no heaven or hell as we know it," Dave finally stated, turning away from his wife's image to address the man and woman before him. "Would that not then negate the existence of all those we believe to inhabit those places?"

Rolling his eyes, Eddie draped an arm over Trish's shoulder. "You'll have to excuse him. Dave's motto is, _Why say something in a few words that everyone can understand, when you can make yourself look like a pompous asshole with a lot of big words that only serve to confuse us all?_ David," he added, snapping his fingers. "Angels exist."

"It's true, Mr. Batista, that the traditional rewards of heaven, or punishments of hell, are not as you were taught in Sunday School. But those who strived toward making their world a better place, reap the rewards of such sacrifices in death." She sighed and leaned against the wall.

"I could have snorted enough narcotics to kill a large horse while I was alive," she narrowed her eyes at him with playful harshness, "But I chose not to. I chose not to lie, cheat, and steal," she turned to Eddie with a smile, "I chose to be good, and this is my reward."

"So you just flutter down there, and flit back up here? Whenever you feel like it?" Dave shook his head in disbelief. "How does that work? How does your family deal with that?"

Sinking to the floor, Trish pulled her knees to her chest. "Some of the same rules apply to me, as they do with you. I can't be seen or heard by those who loved me while I was alive. I can only interact with others, those I didn't know before. I can help them, entertain them. Sometimes I just sit in a coffee shop, or at a bar, and listen to them talk about their problems." With a slight shrug, she smiled up at him. "It's all very sappy – very Touched By An Angel."

There was a warmth about Trish that drew him to her, even when he wanted to be skeptical. He could see, easily, why those in need of a listening ear would turn to her. "But how can you help me then?"

"I can't believe I told my friends you were brilliant," Trish groaned, leaping to her feet again. "It's obvious, isn't it?" When he shook his head, she stepped forward slightly. "I can talk to Courtney? I can befriend her, listen to her, put her on the path to happiness again? Any of this sounding like a plan to you, Mr. Hot Shot Investigative Reporter?" He bit his lip, bewilderment etched on his handsome feature. "Shit! You are the poster child for "Just Say No." All those drugs you thought were so harmless? They scrambled your brain like truck stop eggs. You know that, right?"

Eddie laughed again and slapped Dave on the back. "Trish befriended my Vickie after I died. She introduced her to the man she's married to now. She babysat my girls, let them talk out their feelings about losing me. She's very good at what she does."

"Why would you do that for me?" Dave asked suddenly. He had spent more than twenty years refusing to trust virtually everyone. He wasn't sure there was any reason to start now. "I mean, it's against the rules, right? Why else would you bring me to an unmonitored room?"

"What is that? A trace of the genius still lives?" Trish smiled and then bit her lip, raising an eyebrow. "Well, I guess "lives" isn't the right word," she smirked, and then cleared her throat when Dave's expression said he wasn't amused. Crossing her arms over her ample chest, she shook her head. "Yes, it's against the rules for me to interact on anyone's behalf. For all intents and purposes, death is the end. There is no communication, no interference, beyond that point."

Crossing his own arms, Dave took a hard stance and stared her down with his "I Don't Buy Your Bull Shit" glare. It had gotten him true confessions from some of the most powerful people in the world, and he was sure it would work on the bubbly little thing standing before him now.

Unwaivering, Trish shrugged. "I'm a sucker for a good love story," she admitted. "I've seen you talk about Courtney. Eddie's told me stories about how she affected you as a man, about how evident your love is for her." She turned back to the sleeping woman appearing in the middle of the room, noting that Courtney's shoulders were still shaking in silent tears. When Dave followed her gaze, Trish watched his entire countenance change. "I will help you because of that look," she pointed to his face.

Unsure of what to say, Dave walked over to Courtney and placed a large hand on her shoulder. The trembling began to subside as her eyes drifted open toward the ceiling. "You want me to live?" she asked, her voice thick with sleep and tears. "How do I do that without you?"

When he stepped away from his wife, Dave shared a knowing look with Eddie. "Okay," he sighed, turning his attention to Trish. "I'm in. But there are rules."

"You don't always have to be the boss, Homes," Eddie rolled his eyes, but Dave's stance did not change.

"She's my wife," he reminded. "We'll do this my way."


	5. Black and White

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: So I didn't think that I would get a chance to post another chapter this weekend, but things are not going as I had hoped with the moving. And since I am now the proud owner of an apartment furnished with a television and a computer (and not much else as of yet) there's nothing to do but write more for you. **

**I wanted to say thanks for all the encouragement, especially for my decision to include Eddie in this story, which is not one that I made lightly. It's important to note that I respect Eddie Guerrero more than some members of my own family, I think, and it means a lot to me that you think I'm doing his memory justice. I hope I can continue to do so. Y'all know I don't own Randy any more than I own a private villa in Stintino. Though I can't say I would mind owning either! Enjoy!

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"I said I don't know," Randy's voice raised as he paced the living room of Courtney's home, cell phone to his ear while his free hand ran over the top of his dark hair. "Look, man, I'll be back when I get back. Until then, I don't care how many voice mails you've already left," he huffed, his shoulders tightening. "I don't fuckin' care if you look as desperate as an ugly bitch on prom night, you're gonna get that interview."

Courtney let herself in through the front door, a paper bag of groceries in her arms. "I'm home," she announced, and then bit her lip apologetically when she realized he was on the phone.

With a permissive grin, Randy raised his hand to greet her as he listened to his assistant make another lame excuse. "Shut up and listen to me, Lashley," he finally snapped. "I'm gonna explain this in small words so you can understand me. If I have to call the Prime Minister's office myself? You're fired." He shrugged and winked at Courtney as he snapped his phone shut. "Hey."

With a laugh, Courtney walked into the kitchen and sat her bag on the counter. "How many times have I heard that conversation?" she asked over her shoulder.

Randy entered the rustic room and leaned casually against the oak island in the center. He looked anything but an executive, in his well-worn jeans and gray tank top, but something about him demanded attention. Maybe it was his crystal blue eyes. Or the tilt of his chin when he spoke. Courtney thought it very well could have been his broad shoulders and his lean build. Standing nearly six and a half feet tall, he was impressive, to say the least.

"Yeah, but I did what I was told," Randy grinned, tossing a grape into the air and catching it between his teeth. "What are we doin' tonight?"

Turning her back to him, she busied herself with putting the groceries away. "I thought I'd make dinner," she answered, turning and leaning against the counter. Leveling him with her stare, she shrugged. "We have to talk."

"Uh oh." His heart sank, though he wasn't sure why. "Are you breaking up with me?"

Courtney's lips twitched in a small smile as she pushed off the counter and took a grape from the bunch on the island for herself. Shaking her head, she popped the tiny fruit into her mouth. "I wouldn't do that," she winked. "I could never leave you, Orton." With the swish of her blonde hair, she turned on her heels and started out of the room again. "I'm going to take a bath. Think you can keep yourself occupied for a little while?"

He just rolled his eyes as she flounced out of the room. He had been struggling for three days with the decision to tell her about Dave's letter. Would she be mad if she found out Dave wanted him to watch her? Would she laugh in his face? Would she kick him out and refuse to ever speak to him again? Worse yet, what if she didn't?

As he sank to the couch, he thought about the possible ramifications of their discussion later. She could very well tell him to go to hell. And he wouldn't blame her one bit. But what if she accepted? What was he supposed to do with her once he got her back to DC? Did Dave expect him to marry her?

In an attempt to clear his mind, he leaned forward and took a photo album off the table. Flipping the front flap open, he rested his head against the back of the couch and perused the contents.

_My Princess_, Randy read the words Dave had written inside the cover. _It has been said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I hope these photos show you a fraction of the beauty I behold when I look at you. _"Sappy ass motherfucker," he laughed to himself as he flipped the page.

The first picture was a young-looking Courtney with chin-length blonde hair, sporting a Columbia sweatshirt and a cup of coffee. She was smiling brightly. The caption read _This is how I saw you the day we met. You were radiant, even hiding under that baggy sweatshirt and your glasses. I think I loved you in that moment._

Randy turned the page and smiled as he gazed at the photo of Courtney on the couch, one thin arm over her head as the other wiped the corner of her eye. She was beautiful, even first thing in the morning. The puffy pout of her sleep-plumped lips begged to be kissed, and he shook his head. He couldn't think about waking up next to her, it still didn't feel right. But damn if he didn't want to experience that natural beauty firsthand.

The next pages were more of the same – Courtney caught off guard around the house, always dressed in some huge sweatshirt, or one of Dave's even-larger dress shirts. She had an undeniable smile, one that started at her lips and went all the way into her eyes. It was the first thing he had noticed about her when Dave introduced them for the first time. And it was the thing he missed most about her now.

Determined to look at only one more page, Randy flipped to a divider section. Silver ink on a black backdrop caught his eye as he perused the words Dave had scrawled.

_Christmas 2004. It has been said that nothing is black and white. There are always shades of gray – tones that add definition and flavor to a world that would be otherwise drab and dull. I disagree. My love for you, Princess, is as black and white as these photos. Without variation, without tint or taint, I love you._

He felt a bit voyeuristic in turning the page, but Randy couldn't contain his curiosity. The next four pictures were the most exquisite photographs he had ever seen: Courtney, dressed in stiletto boots, her knees drawn to her chest to cover her nakedness as she leaned against a black wall. Courtney, wearing only a white sheet, her hair tousled as she stood in a darkened doorway. Courtney, sporting Dave's black dress shirt, opened to reveal the valley of her breasts, and the slightest hint of her little white panties, as she stood before a mirror in a dim bathroom. And Courtney, fully nude on a bed of black sheets, her back arched as she gripped the slatted headboard.

Randy didn't want to be aroused. He didn't want to want her. Dave was his mentor, his friend, and the closest thing to a brother he had ever known. And Courtney belonged to Dave. Randy knew the man almost better than he knew himself, and he knew that, even in death, she still belonged to her husband.

The final page only served to cement his suspicions. Dave sat on a stool at the center of the photo, his muscular back, and the tattoo that adorned it, a dark contrast to the white floor and walls that served as their backdrop. Over his shoulder, Courtney's eyes teased the camera, a smile in them, though her lips were pressed to his shoulder and virtually unseen. Her hair fell around his shoulders and his head bent to kiss her neck.

Wrapped in a naked, lovers embrace, Randy saw all the confirmation he needed. He shouldn't. . . He couldn't. . . He wouldn't touch Courtney Lane. Shutting the album, he moved to the veranda and gripped the railing, gasping for some much-needed fresh air. _I can't do it, man_, he whispered, looking into the heavens. _I know what you're asking of me, and I can't do it. She is, and will always be, your wife. It's not right, and I can't help you. I'm sorry._

"Hey you," the sweet voice sounded behind him, nearly causing Randy to jump. Courtney's eyes narrowed in concern when he turned to her. "You okay?" He nodded and ran a hand over his face as she winked and motioned for him to follow. "Help me make dinner."

Clad in a soft, yellow sundress, Courtney led the way toward the kitchen, but Randy's thoughts were far from the traditional seafood dish she was teaching him. And, as though he were right there beside them, Randy could have sworn he heard Dave's voice whisper in his ear, _Stop making excuses, Orton. I gave you an assignment. Don't fuck it up._


	6. Dream Girl

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: This chapter's a shortie, I know, but combined with the next chapter, it was all too long. Hopefully I'll get the next one up some time tonight. As a caution, this chapter contains sexual content. I don't own Randy or Dave - Courtney's my creation. Enjoy!

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"_Dude, I don't get this shit," Randy complained, his brow knitted in confusion as his eyes focused on the television._

_Dave grunted from his place on the couch. "Don't get what?"_

_Nodding to the television, Randy shook his head again. "This movie. It's bull shit." Searching for the logic, he just shrugged. "I don't know what the fuck is going on," he finally conceded._

"_Does it fuckin' matter?" Dave laughed easily, resting his head against the back of the sofa and allowing his eyes to drift shut._

_With a smirk on his lips, Randy looked back to the television. "Apparently not to you."_

_Dave glanced down to his lap where Courtney had his shaft enveloped deep between her lips, her head bobbing up and down as he brushed her hair from her face and smiled at her. "Are we offending you, Orton?" Dave laughed._

_If he was honest, he would say "hell yes." But Randy knew that Dave was serious about his "It's my house and I'll do whatever the fuck I want, whenever the fuck I want" philosophy. "Nah, man, it's whatever," he shrugged again, trying to regain his focus on the confusing film before him._

"_Are you blushing?" Dave taunted, a satisfied smirk on his face. "What's wrong, Kid? You haven't seen a beautiful woman suck your cock in awhile?"_

"_Fuck you," Randy shot, his gaze trained on the film while he tried his best to focus on anything but the erection building in his jeans. _

_Dave chuckled slightly and then groaned deeply as Courtney moaned against him. "No worries, Orton," he managed to say. "Maybe I'll share someday."_

Bolting upright in the bed, Randy flung the blankets back and ran a hand over his face. Something had to give, and soon. Over dinner, Courtney had agreed to think about returning to DC with him, much to his surprise.

She had chewed her food slowly as he read her the letter Dave had left him. Watching him with unsure eyes, she had listened carefully. Her expression said that she hadn't really considered moving back to the States, but that she wasn't ruling it out.

"_When do you need an answer?" she asked finally._

_Randy sat the letter to the side and leaned back in his chair. "Whenever you're ready to give me one. I mean, I want you come home, no doubt. But if you don't really want to be there, I don't want you to ever feel like you're being forced into anything."_

_She smiled and nodded. "I'll think about it."_

Unfortunately, the only thing he could think about now was having her in his home. And his dreams kept leading him to something more than a symbiotic caregiver role. He had always wanted that, at least in part, and now he could have it. He could show her he was more than her husband's punk assistant. Now he had the opportunity to be her provider, and her protector. Maybe more.

Determining that he would worry about Courtney tomorrow, Randy padded down the hall toward the kitchen_. Get a drink of water, clear your head, you'll be fine_. And he had almost convinced himself, until he rounded the corner and saw her.


	7. Alive

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: This chapter contains sexual content. I disclaim, and hope you Enjoy!

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Standing at the kitchen counter, Courtney tightened her terrycloth robe and stared at the pile of white power on the compact mirror before her. The baggie had rested in the top drawer of the island for nearly six months, waiting for her to need it. She had purchased it from a customer during the coffee shop's grand opening, determined to take it home and celebrate the start of her new business in memory of her husband. But something always held her back.

Randy's declaration that Dave wanted her to come home had hit her harder than she let on. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she clutched the last razor blade Dave had used to cut his last line in her left hand, staring from it to her wedding band. Fighting a sardonic chuckle, she shook her head. He still thought he could tell her what to do.

_"Excuse me?" Courtney asked, her arms crossed over her chest as she leveled her boyfriend with her eyes._

"_I said you're not going," Dave answered easily from the desk in their home office._

_Disbelief evident in her eyes, Courtney took a step into the office and shook her head. "Okay, DAD," she emphasized the word and then moved her hands to her hips. "Except that I am," she added._

_Looking up from his paperwork, Dave folded his hands comfortably before him. "Courtney, I haven't had a night off in three weeks. You've been so buried with finals and projects that we haven't spent twenty waking minutes alone together," he reasoned, his brow furrowing as he tried to explain what should have been blatantly obvious to his girlfriend. "You're staying home with me tonight."_

_It wasn't that she didn't want to be with him. It was the tone in his voice, the condescending nature with which he laid down his order that made her cringe. "Why? So you can order me around some more?" He rolled his eyes. "Look, you may be fifteen years older than me, but you are not my father. I am a big girl and I can decide if I'm going to get a drink with my friends."_

"_Are you done?" he asked quietly, leaning back in his chair as the corners of his lips twitched into a sly smile. "God, you're beautiful when you're angry."_

_She didn't want to smile, fought like hell to keep it at bay. Narrowing her eyes, she chewed on her cheek and refused to let up. It wasn't the first time he had said something like this, and she feared if she didn't nip it in the bud, he would only get worse. "I'm serious, Dave," she said. "I may play your bitch sometimes, but I am not your puppy. You can't roll up the newspaper and smack me on the nose every time I do something of which you don't approve."_

_He nodded. "For the record, I'm not trying to control you," he responded, wiping the grin from his lips as he spoke. "I'm sorry if it came out that way. You go," he waved with a hand and looked back at the papers on his desk. "I probably won't be done for a couple of hours anyway."_

_Courtney walked to the edge of the desk and pushed the papers to the side with a smile. She hadn't really wanted to go out for drinks, anyway. Lifting her body onto the smooth, wooden surface and she spun around until her feet rested on his armrests. "You sure you're not done now, Baby?"_

She knew, even as she told Randy that she would think about his proposal, that she was returning to DC in a matter of weeks. If that's where Dave wanted her, that's where she would go. Because no matter how many times she tried to resist him, she knew that she was just as powerless to him now, a year after his passing, as she had been when he was alive.

Carefully using the blade in her hand to separate the powder into piles, she worked slowly and diligently, cutting the lines just as Dave had shown her. Well aware of his presence in the darkened doorway, Courtney finished her work as she spoke to Randy. "You gonna tell me not to do this, Choir Boy?"

Randy smiled at the nickname, the one Dave had given him a few years back, and shook his head. He had never been ashamed of the fact that he was always saying "no," never really felt the need for the substances his friend ingested. But he had never thought about telling anyone to take a step back. They were all adults, and their choices were just that – theirs.

Watching carefully, his eyes followed Courtney as she bent over the island and carefully snorted one line. Stopping to sniffle, she blinked and let out a gaping breath. "Oh, that's good," she winked at him. Holding a hand out, she motioned for him to join her. "One more, Orton. You in?"

He approached with another shake of his head, leaning against the counter behind her as she bent to do the second line. When she turned, the look in her dark eyes scared him a little bit. "You okay?"

Courtney blinked and nodded, sniffling once more as she ran her finger under her nose. "Better than okay," she assured him. It wasn't her first time snorting coke, but it had been awhile, and the instant heady feeling she experienced made her laugh loudly.

Reaching out an arm to steady her, Randy rested his hand on her hip and leaned forward to brush her blonde locks from her face. "You're not gonna feel so okay when you crash, Sweetheart."

Moving to him, Courtney kissed Randy's bare chest without thinking. "Don't care," she insisted, flipping her hair over one shoulder and returning to his nipple. Teasing it with her tongue, she smiled up at him. "For now, I feel, and that's all that matters."

The hunger with which she looked at him made Randy hard instantly. He had been so good, controlled himself so expertly, when she wasn't showing any interest. But as she backed away from him and untied her robe, he found he couldn't contain his desire any longer. And he didn't want to.

Completely naked, Courtney hoisted herself onto the island and held out a hand. "Come here," she invited, smiling coyly at Randy as she hooked her finger and motioned him over. Her body was crackling and spinning, her skin tingling, as he moved to her and placed his hands on her thighs.

Pushing her legs apart, Randy stepped close to the counter and pulled her flush against his chest. The feeling of her skin against his set him over the edge as he attacked her lips, sucking until she moaned and thrust her tongue into his mouth.

Maybe it was wrong. Maybe he would regret it later, but if he had to get used to taking care of this woman, he was going to get something in return. Something other than the appreciation of a dead man.

For the first time since Dave had died, Courtney felt her body reacting to the touch of another person. She had watched all of his old porn, looked at his magazines, bought a couple of her own. Her fantasies of her late husband had allowed her to find release on more than one occasion, but it had been a year since a man had been inside her.

Whether it was the drugs, or the mere anticipation of human contact, Courtney tore her lips from Randy's and gasped. "I want you inside me, Orton," she panted, her hands flying to the waist band of his black boxer briefs. Forcing them over his hips, she grabbed his shaft in her fist. "Now."

He barely had time to respond before she slid over the edge of the counter and guided him into her wet opening. With a groan, she wrapped her legs around his waist and gripped the island for support. Holding her ass with both hands, he found a rhythm while she guided herself up and down on him.

Courtney threw her head back and tried to clear her mind. Dave was still there – he was never really gone – but for now the only things that existed were the pumping sensations of her blood in her veins, and Randy inside her.

Dave had been right. He had died, but Courtney had allowed herself to stop living right along with him. Until that moment, she hadn't even realized that the numb feeling which had fallen over her at his passing had never really gone away. But as Randy put her feet on the floor and turned her around, bending her over the island and entering her again sharply from behind, she remembered what "alive" felt like.

She came first, with a scream, just before Randy withdrew and emptied himself on her lower back with an animalistic growl. Her body shook as she collapsed onto him in a sweaty heap on the floor.

Reaching for his trembling hand, she wove her shaking fingers around his. "Orton?" she gasped.

"Yeah?" he panted, turning his face to look at the exhausted woman beside him.

She smiled and closed her eyes, licking her lips. "I wanna go home."


	8. Plan in Motion

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: As always, thank you guys so much for your reviews. You've all been great, and I appreciate it more than you could know. I don't own Dave, Trish, or Randy in name, though their personalities are kind of mine in this story. Enjoy!

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"Isn't this a rerun?" Trish's bubbly voice sounded from Dave's doorway as he sat in his recliner, nursing a beer and watching the platform in the center of the room.

With a slight nod, he motioned for her to enter and sat his bottle on the end table. "Never gets old, though," he admitted as Trish flopped herself into the other chair, Courtney's chair.

Biting back the growl that threatened to escape each time she made herself comfortable in that seat, Dave returned his attention to the image before him. He had been slightly disappointed when, upon returning to the States, Courtney had encouraged Randy to take a position with the network that would move the couple out of DC and into the heart of Manhattan.

In his master plan, Courtney was working toward becoming a Senator again, so when she purchased a small storefront in the East Village, seemingly content to stay away from politics for awhile, he had cringed slightly. But she seemed content with the routine life she was settling into, so he had decided to let it go for the time being. She would realize that running an Italian pastry and coffee shop wasn't what she needed soon enough.

"Don't you have to be going soon?" Dave asked Trish, barely turning his head.

Nodding, the blonde stood and threw her hair into a high ponytail. "Yes, I do. It's about time for me to be getting off of work," she winked, watching as Courtney made change for the customers at her counter.

For three weeks, she had visited "Ronzio Dello Zucchero" daily, striking up conversations with Courtney and getting to know the women she was charged with helping. Not surprisingly, Trish found herself as drawn to the young woman as Courtney seemed to her.

They talked about little things. Trish learned that the name of the café was Italian for Sugar Buzz. Courtney was born and raised in Vermont, a state that she sometimes missed, especially during ski season. Her favorite breakfast was a chocolate-chip biscotti, dipped into a steaming double-shot espresso latte with light whipped cream.

Over time, Trish had also learned the not-so-little things. Courtney was dating her late husband's best friend. She felt that moving to New York had been a good way to escape the constant reminders of the city she had shared with her husband. And sometimes she missed girls' nights out.

"Trish," Dave spoke evenly as he watched Courtney take an order from a young man with blonde hair and perfect teeth. "It's time," he said.

With a roll of her eyes, Trish pulled a stocking cap over her ears and huffed. "She's getting there, Dave. Don't push," she warned. When he turned and glared at her, Trish felt a slight chill in the air. "Okay, fine. Today. I'll do it today," she conceded, moving out the door.

Watching the images on the platform, he fought the urge to reach out and slap this smiley motherfucker chatting his wife up. Fortunately, the tiny bell over the door "dinged" and Trish made her entrance into the image before he could do something regrettable.

"Hey, woman," Courtney greeted as Trish sidled up to the counter and ordered her usual. "How was work?"

Launching into a long story about broken copy machines and inept technicians, Trish watched Courtney's features as she sat the steaming mug of espresso on the counter and then leaned forward in interest. She was beautiful, and Trish thought for a moment about all the things Dave must have loved about this woman.

As she neared the end of her story, she noticed that Courtney's dark gaze had drifted over her shoulder. "Whatcha lookin' at?" Trish asked, turning to rest her eyes on the small, round table by the window.

The young man from earlier was bent over a book, sipping his coffee and concentrating on the words he was soaking in. Shaking her head, Courtney tore her stare from the man and smiled again. "Nothing. I'm sorry. Something outside," she stumbled over her words.

Biting the inside of her lip, Trish refused to think about the angry words Dave would have for her if she allowed Courtney to dwell on any man, other than Randy, for too long. "So, I was wondering, Court," she smiled and reached a hand out to cover her new friend's. "Are you busy Saturday night?"

With the raise of her left eyebrow, the corner of Courtney's lip twitched into a sly smirk. "Are you asking me on a date, Trish?"

Returning the smile with a coy one of her own, Trish withdrew her hand and pushed off the counter. "Depends. Do you think you can get away from Randy for a night?" As Courtney considered the offer, Trish fished a tip out of her coat pocket and laid it on the wooden counter. "Art Gallery opening up the street," she smiled, nodding at the card she had left with the five dollar bill. "Think about it – I'll ask you again Friday."

Even as she exited the shop, Dave found a grin tickling his own lips. Courtney wanted a friend, and now she had one. Now all he had to do was make sure that Trish got close enough to convince her that her that life with Randy would only be made better if she followed her dreams to the Senate.

Sure, Trish had told him he was being controlling and bossy. But Dave knew his wife better than anyone knew her. He took great pride in the fact that she still wanted him, still moaned his name in her sleep. He loved that she still spoke to him in the back room of the shop as she went about her daily duties, and that she still reacted to his soft touches and reassuring embraces.

But he couldn't make her happy if she didn't suck it up and do what was best for her. He hated that he needed Trish to get that message across, but he wasn't above using her to help his Princess find happiness again.

And to make her stop smiling at that punk-ass kid with the perfect teeth.


	9. Girls Night Out

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: The more I write this story, the more I grow to love it. Let me know if you're feeling the same way. Hell, if you're not feeling the same way - let me know that, too. I welcome your thoughts, no matter what they may be. I don't own 'em - Enjoy!

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"_Please tell me you don't need more time," Dave sighed, flinging his massive frame onto the bed. Flopping back, he ran his hands over his face and looked at his watch again. "Princess, it's a movie! It's not the Black and White Ball," he reminded._

_Rolling her eyes, Courtney finished applying her lipstick and turned on the seat of her vanity. "Lover, every time I'm out on your arm, it's an event," she winked, standing from the vanity and smoothing her hands over her jeans. _

"_Cute," Dave responded, groaning as she leaned over him and brushed her lips against his before pulling away quickly and smirking. "Can we go now?"_

_Nodding, she went to the dresser and began to search. "As soon as I find some earrings."_

_Standing, Dave moved to his girlfriend and wrapped his arms around her. "Try these," he whispered in her ear as he bent low and held his hand in front of her face._

They were beautiful, the teardrop diamonds he had given her that night. He had given her more jewelry than she had known what to do with over the course of their lives together, but those earrings were always her favorite.

"You're friend's here, Sweetie," Randy smiled from the doorway as he watched his girlfriend getting ready for her night out with Trish.

Sometimes, the term "girlfriend" almost made him laugh. The lived in the same house, fucked around sometimes, and went out together if he didn't have to work. But otherwise, their bond was as it had always been – friends.

Smiling, Courtney ran her hands over the front of her pants. "How do I look?"

With a nod of approval, Randy swept his eyes over her thin frame. He couldn't be sure, because he knew he wasn't a very good judge of that kind of thing, but he was pretty convinced she had lost weight since Dave's death – and she hadn't had much to lose in the first place. Even so, her faded jeans hugged her hips tightly, and the little flowing tank top she sported under her blazer flattered her. And the way her blonde locks flowed over her shoulders was breathtaking.

"Amazing, as usual," he winked as she sat on the edge of the bed to zip her stiletto boot.

Walking toward him, Courtney forced another smile and put a hand on his hip. Staring at him with wide eyes, she sighed. "Are you sure this is okay with you?"

Randy considered her for a moment and then shrugged. "If you don't wanna go, Court, just tell Trish that I made other plans. I'll be the bad guy. I don't care." It was evident in her expression that she was rethinking the Girls' Night Out.

Shaking her head, Courtney tried to tell herself it was silly. Trish was sweet, and she wanted to make a new friend. She wanted someone to talk to – someone who wasn't Randy. And this gallery, a new modern art house in the Village, had been receiving great buzz for weeks. She really wanted to see it.

But it had been more than a year since she had entered a room with photographers and reporters. It had been over a year since she had faced a television camera, and she hadn't loved it so much back then, either. But Dave had been there, and things never seemed so bad when he was there.

_He'll be right there with you, Courtney. No worries. He would want you to enjoy this. _Even as she told herself, she felt the warming, overwhelming presence that always seemed to settle on her shoulder when she needed it the most. To admit that she believed he was still watching over her, that he still stood beside her when she was hurting or scared, seemed silly to her. He was dead, after all. But that comforting sense that washed over her each time she was scared or hurting made it difficult to believe that he was truly gone.

"Thank you," she smiled finally, dropping a soft kiss on Randy's lips. "But I think it'll be good for me."

He nodded and walked her to the door, watching until she had hailed a cab and disappeared from sight. The designer clothes hung perfectly from her frame. The make up was perfectly applied. But the events of the last year had stolen some of her glimmer. He just hoped that tonight would be a step closer to reclaiming the old Courtney. The Courtney he so badly wanted to fall in love with.

"Oh my God, you're so mean," Courtney laughed as she looked from Trish's twisted expression to the painting before them.

"What?" Trish asked, her shoulders shaking as tried to stifle the laughter threatening to disrupt the casual mood of the evening. "Tell me you weren't thinking the same thing," she finally managed to say. "Tell me you looked at this atrocity and thought 'This is a damn work of art.' I mean, I'm no connoisseur or anything, but seriously, I think my little brother vomited better art than this."

There had been photographers, and there had been reporters. Some had asked her stop and pose for photos with her friend. A few had asked, off the record, how she was doing and where she had been for the last year. But, much to her surprise and elation, none of them had asked her anything specifically about Dave. Maybe they had forgotten him already. More likely, they just knew this wasn't the time or place for the questions. And for that she was grateful.

Turning to scan the room, Trish's eyes fell on a sad-looking woman nursing a champagne flute in the corner. She was there to hang with Courtney, but that woman clearly needed someone to talk to. Feeling a slight tug, she shrugged her shoulders. _Dammit, Dave, I'm not here to babysit her. She'll be fine by herself for ten minutes. _

Trish cleared her throat and smiled at Courtney. "I think I see someone I know over there. Do you mind if I go say hello?"

Courtney shook her head. "Of course not," she smiled as Trish promised to be right back and then scurried off.

She walked from one painting to another before stopping short and gasping. The piece before her was, quite possibly, the most brilliant thing she had ever seen. It was abstract, full of dark colors and harsh lines. Without warning, a memory crashed in on her, nearly causing her knees to buckle.

"_Dave? I'm home!" Courtney called as she slammed the front door of the apartment after a late night at the office. When she received no answer, she called again. "David?" That was strange. His car was parked out front._

_After searching the kitchen, his office, and the bedroom, Courtney noticed that the door of the bathroom was slightly ajar. Her heart raced as she pushed the door open and found him there. Lying on the floor, a band around his forearm, Dave rested his head against the bathtub and stared at the wall. For a split second, she feared he might be dead._

"_DAVE!" She screamed and dropped to her knees beside him, untying the band and grabbing his face. "Can you hear me?"_

_He nodded and licked his lips. "I think I overdid it," he smirked slightly, rolling his head until it rested against her neck. "I missed you."_

_Reaching for his wrist, Courtney put her thumb over his pulse and allowed herself to relax. It was slow, but steady. Cradling him close to her chest, she rocked him slightly. "You could have died, jack ass," she laughed through her tears._

_With another nod, he leaned his weight against her, causing Courtney to lose her balance and fall hard against the bathtub. She made a grunting sound in his ear, but didn't complain. She never complained. "You deserve someone better than me."_

_Though she sometimes hated to admit that she agreed, Courtney just shook her head. "Shh," she silenced him with a kiss on his temple. Splayed across the bathroom floor, she knew they made a pitiful picture. Her skirt rode up her thighs as she stretched her legs out in front of her. His dark skin was pale as he rested in her arms, his position nearly fetal as he curled further into her embrace. "You need to rest."_

_He would forget this moment in the morning. He would go about his life as he always had, tempting fate and pretending that he was invincible. He would snort more powder, swallow more pills, and stick himself with more syringes, even though he knew it scared the hell out of her. He was an addict, and she did deserve better. But it didn't matter._

"_I love you," she whispered as he began to babble something about the prism of the fluorescent light overheard. _

"I don't think anyone's looked at that thing for more than thirty seconds all night," a deep voice interrupted her thoughts.

Unable to tear her eyes from the painting, Courtney shook her head. "It is tragically, painfully perfect," she breathed.

The voice chuckled slightly, but said nothing else for a few moments. Finally, "I think it would look perfect on the wall in your shop."

After a double-take, she stumbled slightly. The man from the coffee shop. With the blond hair. And the perfect teeth. "Is this yours?"

Shaking his head, he looked from the Courtney to the painting. "It's yours. If you want it," he offered.

Courtney laughed and shook her head. "I couldn't. . . I mean, I'm sure I couldn't afford it," she started, knowing it was a lie. She was sure of only one thing – that she couldn't bear looking at that painting every day. "Thank you for the offer, though." Stopping for a moment, she smiled shyly. "I'm sorry – I don't think I've ever asked your name."

"John," he winked, extending his hand. "My family calls me Johnny, though," he turned his head to the side and studied the radiant woman at his side. "And my friends call me Nitro."

She found his grin infectious as she turned her attention from the painting and hitched her purse higher on her shoulder. "Why Nitro? You a professional wrestler or something?"

With a slight blush, he shook his head, his long hair falling over his shoulders. "Long story. Let's just say it was a college nickname that stuck." Courtney nodded. "I mean it, Courtney," he nodded toward the painting again. "The exhibit is up until the end of the month, and then it's all yours. I wouldn't even charge you all that much."

With a coy glint in her eyes, she let her gaze drift from his boots, over his brown chords, to the light blue dress shirt he wore over his pants. Finally resting on the expression in his eyes, she asked, "Name your price, Nitro."

"Dinner," he responded without hesitation.

But before Courtney could politely decline, Trish returned. "Alright, sorry about that," she gasped. "Line for the ladies room – outta control," she huffed as though she had just run across the room.

"You okay?" Courtney asked, eyeing her friend suspiciously.

"I'm fine," she smiled at Nitro and then at Courtney. "Actually, I'm feeling a little nauseous. I think it was those little hot dog things on the sticks?"

Nodding, Courtney turned back to Nitro one last time. "I'll see you at the shop," she waved, leading Trish out of ear shot. She wasn't sure if she was grateful to her new friend for getting her out of an uncomfortable situation, or royally pissed off.


	10. Everything She Deserves

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: Originally, I was planning on posting another chapter here. But since Vera and I just saw Batista yesterday at a signing, and I'm now staring at a beautiful photo of him in my favorite pink shirt, standing close enough to touch, I couldn't write anything but him! As a side note that has nothing to do with this story - his skin is so freakin' smooth - he definitely moisturizes! Anyway, I don't own him, because if I did, he would be here with me right now, wearing that damn shirt. Enjoy!

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He was a jealous man by nature and he always had been. Courtney knew it, and she had never said much about his tendency to freak out when she entertained the attention of another man. Well, almost never.

_"Where have you been?" Dave asked, his eyes trained on the television as he nursed a beer bottle in one hand and surfed channels with the remote in his other._

_Courtney laid her bags on the entry table and moved to the couch, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his earlobe. "You're home early," she purred, resting her chin on his shoulder to study the documentary he had stopped on._

_Dave's shoulders rose and fell with a slight chuckle. "It's eleven thirty, Courtney," he reminded her._

_She knew she was in trouble. He never called her by her given name unless he was pissed. Kicking off her pumps, she moved to his side on the couch and sat, her shoulder brushing his as began to rub his thigh._

_"I kinda lost track of the time," she admitted quietly, leaning her head on his bicep. "This is what I get for agreeing to work with a rookie," she added with a slight chuckle._

_His body tensed, and he did his best to not say anything. She would tell him he was being silly, and maybe he was. But the idea of her spending long hours in a dark office with a young upstart made his blood boil, and he wasn't about to deny that. _

_"This kid know you're married?" he asked pointedly._

_Retracting her arm, Courtney hardened her gaze. "David," she started, her tone low and warning._

_"What?" he turned a look of mock innocence to her and then rolled his eyes._

_Standing, she began to unbutton her dress shirt. "I'm too tired for this stupid, bull shit argument," she stated, walking toward the bedroom._

_By the time she had changed into her nightgown, he was leaning against the doorframe, hands stuffed in the pockets of his well-worn jeans. "I don't think you realize how beautiful you are, Princess," he finally spoke, his voice low and soothing._

_With a small smile, Courtney climbed into the bed and drew her knees to her chest. "Don't start with me, Mr. Sexiest Man Alive. There are millions of women waiting for our marriage to fail," she reminded him. "But you don't see me acting like a jealous fool when you work late with one of them, do you?"_

_Shedding his shirt and pants, Dave slid into the bed and pulled his wife into his arms. "No, but that's because you know I don't want any of them. You know you're the axis that my world tilts on," he whispered before kissing the top of her head._

_Courtney ran her fingers over his chest softly, pressing a kiss to his smooth, soft skin. "David," she replied, twisting in his arms until she was staring into his eyes. "What's the one thing you love most about me?"_

_He licked his lips and let his hands trail down her back, until they rested on the curve of her ass. "Besides that?" She rolled her eyes and playfully smacked him. "You know I love your tenacity," he answered._

_Nodding, she kissed his chest and then met his gaze again. "Nothing deters me when I want something, right?" He nodded and smiled wider. "And all I want, Lover, is you."_

Somehow, she always managed to calm his fears for the moment. But they both knew that his jealous streak was never far from the surface. It wasn't that he didn't trust his wife - she loved him, and he was confident in that. But he also knew, though he rarely admitted it, that he put her through hell at times. And in the back of his mind, those were the moments that he knew could drive her into the arms of another man at any unguarded second.

Knocking on the door of Eddie's room, he tried to soothe the anger that was simmering below the surface after watching Courtney's little outing the night before. He had no reason to worry - nothing bad had happened between his wife and that punk, Nitro. But he still didn't like it.

"Wow," Eddie smiled as he opened the door for his friend. "You stepped away from Tele-Courtney?"

As he stepped inside, Dave smiled to himself. Eddies room was a warm, inviting reminder of the house he had once shared with his family outside of Los Angeles. "Man, this couch is hideous," he laughed as he plopped onto the over-stuffed sofa with huge pink flowers.

Eddie nodded as he handed Dave a drink and then plopped down beside him. "I know," he sighed, shaking his head. "But Vickie just had to have it." Turning, he grinned and raised his glass for a toast with his friend. "Anything to make the wife happy, you know?"

He knew. If anyone understood bending over backwards to make his woman happy, he understood. The rubber duck motif of his and Courtney's bathroom attested to that fact and then some. "I hear ya," he agreed, watching Eddie's platform as the image of his youngest daughter played out on the screen.

"So, Trish said there was a little mishap during the big Girls Night Out last night," Eddie spoke, looking at Dave as though he couldn't be sure if his friend was going to explode in a fit of rage or not. "And please don't hit me - I'm just making conversation."

Dave smiled slightly. "It was touch and go for a minute, but Trish got her out of there before anything irreversible happened," he shrugged before taking a drink. "She's good - Trish is," he admitted with a bit of resignation.

Eddie took a moment to collect his thoughts. If he didn't say things in just the right way, Dave had a tendency to turn a very unbecoming shade of red. And there would be yelling. Lots and lots of yelling. "So, can I ask you something?"

"Why does it bother me that Courtney talked to some guy last night?" Dave asked before Eddie could. Eddie just nodded. "Because, man, that kid is so. . . I don't know," he sighed, his shoulders sagging. "He's not her type. He's the kind of guy who looks for a woman like Courtney. He preys on women like her," he sighed.

"He's a predator?" Eddie asked in disbelief. Trish had said that this Nitro kid seemed nice enough, and that she had almost felt bad dragging Courtney away at the gallery. If it hadn't been for fear of Dave's heated glares and angry hissing, she would have left them alone to see what developed.

Dave leaned back on the couch and ran a hand over his face. "Not literally, dumbass," he teased, looking over at Eddie, who was laughing again. He was always laughing. "I just mean he knows that Courtney is so far out of his fucking league. He knows they could never have anything real. But he doesn't mind being the guy she slums with, if it'll pay his rent and give him some stories to tell his slacker friends."

"And you know that how?" Eddie asked.

"I know his type."

Though Eddie loved Dave, there were times when he wanted to smack the man in the back of the head with a shoe. He refrained from making drug jokes, but at times he really did wonder if Dave had taken one too many hits from a pipe. "Never hurts to have friends, ya know," he reminded.

But Dave didn't want to hear that. "If I thought he just wanted to be her friend, I wouldn't have a problem with that," he started.

But before he could finish, Eddie burst into another round of laughter. Calming himself, he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, man, but that's funny." His eyes squinted as he turned his attention to the ballet recital on his platform. She was getting so big, his little Kaylie.

"Alright, so I'm an elitist. But that jackass is not good enough for my Princess," he huffed like a child. "What kind of name is Nitro anyway?"

Setting his drink on the table, Eddie leaned back and crossed his arms behind his head. "She's a big girl, Dave. Man, she can figure out what's good enough for her on her own," he advised. "Took me a long time to realize it, too, but we didn't marry stupid women, David. Vickie did just fine. And I'm sure Courtney will, too," he assured.

Though Dave knew his friend was right, he still felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle slightly. Of course Courtney was an intelligent woman. But that didn't mean that she couldn't use a little guidance. "Look, it's not that I don't want her to be happy - I do want that. That's all I want. I just don't think she needs this Nitro yahoo to do it. She has Randy. And now she has Trish. What else does she need?"

Eddie shrugged. "Something of her own?" he suggested. Dave didn't look pleased with the answer. "Well, Homes, come on," Eddie defended. "Maybe she needs to find someone who didn't, or doesn't, know you. Think about it, man. For the last five years, she's done everything for and with you," he shook his head sadly. "There was nothing she wouldn't do to please you, and you know it."

Dave smiled at that. It was true. Courtney was firey, and sometimes she was stubborn. But she was always willing to drop everything for him. "And I wasn't always that guy for her," Dave admitted before he realized what he was saying.

And, as if a light bulb had gone on, Eddie stood and smiled knowingly. "Absolution is a beautiful thing, man," he nodded, walking to the sink to dispose of his drink. Returning, he shook his head again. "But you can't find it by being a selfish, manipulative bastard."

Standing, Dave finished his drink and walked toward the door. "But we both know that's just who I am, right?" he asked as he exited the room.

It wasn't that Eddie was wrong. Actually, Dave knew he was absolutely right. He hadn't been everything Courtney needed when he was alive. He had neglected her on so many occasions, choosing his parties and substances over the woman that he loved. He had provided everything she could have possibly wanted materially and financially. He met every one of her physical needs, and then some. But her emotional and mental state of being had suffered at his hands.

The world had always seen him as a strong man - because of his physique and his Alpha male personality. But strength was his facade, and he had always known that his wife deserved someone who possessed the trait in reality, someone who was still strong after he stripped out of the power suit and hung up the phone.

Courtney deserved a man who was willing and able to provide for her like he had - someone who would understand her hunger for success, and also her desire for a safe haven at the end of the day. They had worked as a couple because she needed someone like him, someone with the ability to understand her world, her stresses and pressures. She needed someone who fit into her high-society world, and then helped her create an escape from it.

She deserved Randy. And he didn't care what anybody said, he was going to make sure his Princess found her happily-ever-after with the Choir Boy.


	11. An All Around Great Day

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: This chapter's a little long - sorry, but I had a lot to say. Oopsie. Oh, and as a warning: Sexual Content. (Seems I'm having trouble writing a Randy/Courtney scene without it.)**

**Anyway, just wanted to take a quick second to do something I don't do a lot of - to Vera, Katy, Stacy, and Kim: Thanks for your faithful reviews. No matter how worried I get that people are losing interest in the story, or how I feel like I might have come up a little short this time, or that time, or whatever, the four of you have reviewed every chapter, and I appreciate it.**

**To everyone else who reads this story and loves it - who has taken the time to review any part of it, or to send me a thoughtful PM, or just to take a few minutes to sit and read my words - thank you so much! I really do mean it when I say I love and appreciate you all. **

**Enough of my sappy bull shit. On with the story! Enjoy!

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"I'm not eating that," Courtney insisted, shaking her head as Randy offered her a bite of his hot dog.

"Come on, Baby," he winked, pushing it toward her again.

He had shown up at Ronzio Dello Zucchero around one, informing her that he had cleared his schedule for the next four hours, and that he fully intending on spending that time with her. Knowing how busy he had been lately, she was flattered by the gesture. But closing the shop in the middle of the a busy afternoon was the last thing she could consider.

Until Trish showed up. Courtney wasn't sure how the vivacious little blonde always seemed to pop in at just the right moments, but today she wasn't sorry at all. Sure, she had been hesitant to leave her store in the hands of a novice, but when Trish whipped up her own cup of cappuccino and insisted that Courtney go have fun, she had no choice but to hesitantly agree.

And now she was glad she had. Randy was like her security blanket, the one she knew would be there when she needed something to wrap around herself for warmth and comfort. This impromptu outing was turning out to be exactly what she needed to remind her of just how fun he had always been. And it helped keep her mind off of wondering whether or not Nitro was going to come in for coffee, and if he was going to continue the trend of completely ignoring his dinner offer nearly two weeks earlier.

"Randy, those things sit in that nasty water for how long?" she asked again as he popped another bite into his mouth.

Swallowing the last of the hot dog, Randy smiled and wove his arm around Courtney's waist. "You are so not a New Yorker," he teased, kissing the side of her head as they continued walking.

There were a million things that he needed to be doing at work. But as he had sorted through paperwork and suffered through two horrible conference calls that morning, he decided the only thing he wanted to do was be with Courtney. What had started as a favor to a friend was quickly becoming his own passionate desire, and he was more determined than ever to make things work with the woman he was falling hopelessly in love with.

Holding his hand, Courtney window shopped, well-aware of a few photographers that were snapping her photo from across the street. "We've got company," she whispered in Randy's ear as he stopped in front of a small boutique.

"Let's hide," he smiled, pulling her toward the shop door.

"Not in there! Are you crazy?" she asked as she took in the display in the front window.

With a wicked grin, Randy dragged her into the shop. "Relax, Court," he whispered as he looked over the wide array of adult novelties and apparel inside the tiny sex shop. "Nice," he whistled as he led her toward a rack of skimpy clothing.

"Oh yeah," she rolled her eyes. "That's really nice."

He held the outfit up to her body and looked her over. "It's you, baby," he winked.

Smacking his hand away, Courtney went about perusing the contents of a few other racks. None of it was her. She had never needed expensive lingerie with Dave. Sure, he had bought her a few chemises and nighties, but she had never actually worn one. Her husband had always been more content to just rip her clothes off when she walked in the front door.

"What about this?" Randy's voice invaded her thoughts again.

"Um," Courtney turned her head to the side and then smiled. "No fuckin' way," she laughed as he put the cheerleading uniform back on the rack. "And not that one either," she warned before he could even turn back around.

With a childish roll of his eyes, Randy pouted a lip at her and then grabbed another hanger. "A healthy fantasy life is sexy, baby," he reminded her, extending the outfit.

This time, she laughed out loud, disturbing the dozen or so shoppers who had gathered inside. "And what, pray tell, about this outfit is supposed to make me feel remotely sexy?" she asked, touching what appeared to be a studded dog collar and a pair of leather chaps on the hanger.

Randy shrugged and continued shopping, determined to find something that she would, at the very least, agree to try on for him. "What about this?"

Turning, Courtney let her eyes drift over the white satin corset in his hands. It had an overlet of black lace, the straps held in place by two baby pink bows. Attached to the hanger was a plastic package with white thigh-highs, also sporting bows on the tops. "Randy," she started. But the look on his face was so hopeful that she couldn't say "no" again. "Fine. I'll try it."

For nearly ten minutes, Randy strolled around the boutique, picking out lotions and incense, flirting with the girls at the counter, and wondering why in the world anyone would want a string of beads in their anal cavity. Finally, he slipped around the corner, into the dressing area.

"Well?" he asked.

"It's cute," Courtney called through the slatted door.

Staring at herself, Courtney couldn't help but admire how full and firm her breasts looked in the tight-fitting corset. And the thigh-highs made her legs appear longer and shapely. It was feminine, and it was sexy. Truth be told, she loved it.

"Let me see," Randy insisted from outside the door.

"Uh uh," Courtney denied, looking over herself again.

Sighing, he rested his forehead against the door. Every time he thought he was making some progress with her, she retreated again. "Baby," he whined slightly.

"Randy, there are no panties with it," she hissed, as though that would deter him from wanting to see her.

"Good," he laughed, standing up a little straighter and licking his lips. "That wasn't supposed to turn me off, was it?" he asked, his voice a low whisper outside the door.

The deep resonance of his voice, mixed with the sensual naivete with which he said most things, had a way of making her tummy flutter. "What do you think?" she rolled her eyes as she opened the door.

Randy drank in her appearance, his entire body responding instantly. Her legs were crossed and one hand rested on the top of the door while the other was propped on her hip. She was a vision. Absolutely the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. "Uh," he stuttered slightly, his body charging forward of it's own volition.

It seemed to Courtney that she was in his lap, his lips attached to her neck, before he even had time to enter the room and lock the door. "What the --" she started as his kisses moved to her mouth and his tongue swept inside.

For a moment, everything seemed to stop as the lovers embraced, exploring each other's mouths while Randy's hand roamed over Courtney's bare ass. But when he began to unbuckle his belt, she pulled back.

"What are you doing?"

He raised his eyebrow and stood, one hand on her hip as his pants fell to his ankles. Returning to his seat on the bench, he lifted her body and lowered her onto his erect shaft. "Taking the "try it before you buy it" approach," he winked.

She wanted to tell him they shouldn't be doing this. She wanted to remind him that anybody could be standing outside the door, recording them, or waiting to take pictures. She wanted to stop him from running his thumb over her clit and making her moan like that.

But as he lifted his hips and drove deeper into her heated core, Courtney found that she didn't want it to end. Every time with Randy was different. Whether they were at home in their own bed, or here, in a public dressing room, he made her feel like she was floating, and drowning, all at the same time. He wasn't Dave, nobody ever would be. But he was sure as hell the next best thing.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she leaned back slightly and smiled at him. "You are so bad," she giggled as he thrust up again, hitting her spot and making her shake.

With a nod, Randy quickened his pace inside her and slid his hands under her ass. "Yeah," he agreed. "But I'm so damn good at it," he added with a smirk.

Leaning forward, she bit her lip to keep from screaming as he continue to move inside her, as her swollen nub brushed against him repeatedly. "I'm gonna come," she whispered in Randy's ear.

"Fuck," he sighed, her words bringing his orgasm on with force. He sucked on her earlobe in an attempt to keep himself from screaming her name.

Pulling her close, he wrapped his arms around her tightly and waited for both of their bodies to stop shaking.

"I'll wait for you outside," he smiled when he was finally able to stand and straighten his clothing.

As he and Courtney approached the counter, hand in hand, the clerk smiled knowingly. "Have you made your final decision, Mr. Orton?" she asked, her voice lilting with a slight hint of flirtation.

Courtney blushed as Randy let go of her hand and reached into his pocket for his wallet. "Oh yeah. That's the one," he nodded, sliding the little corset across the counter. "Definitely a keeper."

As they stepped out of the boutique, Randy checked his watch. "Shit," he sighed, stopping short. Courtney looked at him with expectant eyes. "I promised Lashley I would be back in the office by five to go over tomorrow's schedule," he said, biting his lip.

Nodding, Courtney squeezed his hand. She was about to tell him it was fine when she heard someone say her name. Turning, a smile stretched across her lips.

"Shouldn't you be at work?" Nitro asked.

Her smile spread wider as she turned her back to Randy. "I was actually just heading back there," she answered sweetly. "Um, Nitro, this is Randy," she introduced awkwardly.

Shifting uncomfortably, Randy moved his hand to her shoulder as he extended a hand to the young man before him. He didn't want to appear jealous - he knew that she hated that more than anything. But this guy was ogling his girlfriend while he was standing right there - and that didn't make him happy. "Nice to meet you," he said cordially, the professional in him demanding that he not throw a complete bitch fit. _What kind of name is Nitro, anyway?_

Nitro shook his hand and smiled. "Same here," he greeted. If he was uncomfortable, or at all disappointed, he didn't show it.

With a kiss to the top of Courtney's head for good measure, Randy checked his watch again. "We gotta get goin', Baby."

With an apologetic frown in Nitro's direction, Courtney conceded. "Right," she whispered. "Okay, so it was nice to see you, Nitro," she waved and began to turn.

"You're headed back to the coffee shop, right?" Courtney nodded. "Me, too. So," he looked at her and then to Randy, and then back, "Why don't we just walk together?" Smiling easily at Randy, he shrugged. "That way you can catch your cab and head back to the office without worrying if your girl got back safely."

He wanted to smack the kid in the head and tell him to take a hike. But as he checked his watch again, Randy realized that dropping Courtney off would take fifteen extra minutes he didn't have. "Thanks, man," he shook Nitro's hand again. Turning, his kissed Courtney softly, holding her cheeks in his hands a little longer than normal. "I'll see you at home around eight, okay?"

She waved good-bye and turned back to her new friend. "So," she let out a deep breath as they fell into step with one another. "That wasn't weird or anything."

Nitro let out another laugh, his shoulder brushing Courtney's as they walked. "I didn't know you had a boyfriend," he stated softly.

Blushing, she wasn't sure why it bothered her that he knew now. It wasn't like she had feelings for this artist she barely knew. "Is that a problem?"

Shrugging, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Not for me. Far as I know, women with boyfriends still have to eat sometime. So I figure I leave my offer for dinner on the table long enough, and you'll get hungry eventually."

_He is a talented artist, Courtney. That's why you've got this tiny little crush. Because of his talent. _Shaking her head, she just smiled as they continued to walk. _Jackson Pollack had a talent for painting emotion, too, remember? And you didn't lay awake with an Art History book at night, fantasizing about his crazy ass. And you're not going to dream of this kid's either._

No matter how cute that ass might have been.


	12. A Time to Remember

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: Alright, so I'm supposed to be going to work right now, but I wrote this last night and I couldn't wait to post it. Another one should follow tonight, because I couldn't put all the shit in this one that I wanted. **

**I knew I was going to leave people out when I did my shout-outs on the last review, and I'm so sorry. To _viper-sa, VASHORTY_, and s_uchbadkarma_, thanks for your consistent reviews - and to everyone else, I'll try to spread it out and get to you guys as well over the next few updates. I really do appreciate all of you.**

**Enjoy!

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**

Randy watched as Courtney flitted around their bedroom, throwing clothing into her overnight bag, and then throwing it back out onto the floor and the bed. Even chewing her thumbnail and scrunching up her nose, she was adorable. It was all he could do to stand in the doorway and not beg her to let him come along for her weekend visit with her parents.

"You could help me, ya know?" she asked, turning her eyes to him finally, a pout on her full lips.

Pushing off the door frame, Randy laughed as he walked to his girlfriend and wrapped his arms around her waist. "I don't see what the big deal is, Baby. It's your mom and dad. Not like you need to be all special for them."

She sighed and turned his arms, allowing him to rest his chin on her head as she perused her choices once more. "I don't see them that much anymore," she reminded him. "Besides, if I don't look perfect, my mother will ask ten thousand questions about how I'm doing and if I need therapy."

"So," he bent and whispered in her ear, "Tell her you've got all the therapy you need." Grasping her earlobe between his lips, he sucked slightly and smiled when she groaned and relaxed against him further.

Part of her wanted to tell him the reason she was driving to DC for the weekend. But another part said that it was none of his business, and that it was better if no one knew. Of course, her parents had figured it out right away, but the fact that Randy didn't seem to remember what Saturday was only solidified her resolve not to share it with him.

After another few minutes of standing in his arms, feeling his lips work over her shoulders and neck, Courtney stepped out of his grasp and moved toward the piles of designer clothing again. None of it seemed appropriate for what she was about to do. It was too casual, too formal, too freaky, too conservative.

Finally, she zipped the bag and turned, hoisting it over her shoulder. "Alright, I think that's it," she sighed, moving to Randy again as he extended his car keys to her. "You sure you don't mind me takin' your car?"

Dropping a kiss on her nose, Randy took her bag and led her out of the bedroom by the hand. "Just be careful with it," he teased as they moved down the stairs and toward the front door. "And be careful with you - I want both of you back here in one piece on Sunday, okay?"

She smiled as he carried her things to the car and carefully arranged them in the trunk. He was so much like Dave - always doting over her, showering her with affection and attention. He was quick to make sure she had everything she needed, or wanted. There was never a moment when she wondered if Randy wanted her around, or if he was happy to be taking care of her.

But there were differences. Sex with Randy was great. But she never rushed home in wild anticipation of fucking him before she put her purse down. Laying in the darkness of the night, feeling his chest rise and fall as they laughed about the minute details of their days was fun, too. But she never fell asleep knowing that she was holding the greatest thing that had ever happened to her.

Of course, she also never looked into his eyes, wondering where the demons had hidden his soul, and if he would ever find a way to reclaim it. She never awoke in a cold sweat, gripping Randy's wrist to make sure that his heart was still beating. She never worried that she would come home and find him passed out in a pool of his own vomit, tear stains evident on his stone-still features. And she never feared staring into the face of a doctor who was telling her that he was sorry, but there was just nothing they could do to save Mr. Orton.

As Randy slammed the trunk, Courtney shook her head from her own thoughts and smiled at him. He was good for her, right for her. Being with him made sense. Sometimes, it was the only thing that made sense anymore. "Are you going to behave yourself this weekend?" she asked as he rested his hands on her hips and she stared up into his brilliantly blue eyes.

"Of course," he insisted, kissing her quickly. "I only have a problem staying out of trouble when you're around," he winked, resting his forehead against hers.

After another deep kiss, she started the car and sped out of the driveway. She would find a way to make it up to him, this impromptu trip, when she got back. But for now, she had more important things to attend to.

* * *

_Her heart sped up as Dave took her hands and looked deeply into her eyes. Hundreds of their friends, family, and friends of their family, looked on as the couple prepared to share the vows they had written for one another. _

_"Princess," he sighed, running his thumb over her palm slowly as he took a deep breath and blinked back a few tears. "Shit, I can't do this," he smiled, gripping her hand tighter. A few people gasped as Dave turned to them and grinned wider. "No, I can do THIS," he assured them. "Just don't wanna cry like a pussy in front of y'all." The crowd erupted in laughter, and the tension broke as he returned to his previous thought._

_"I've seen a lot of women in my life, been admired by quite a few, and returned the affection of a few others." Courtney rolled her eyes as Dave took a baby step toward her and let go of her hand. With his palm on her cheek, he licked his lips. "But in thirty-six years, I have loved only one. _

_"Hawthorne once wrote "For she gets into the remotest recesses of my heart, and shines all through me." __When you entered my life, Princess, I didn't even realize that I was stumbling around in the dark. But you have illuminated my world with a patient, understanding, longsuffering love that we, and everyone here, knows I don't deserve." He stopped briefly to wipe a tear from her cheek with his thumb._

_Watching as she bit her lip and stared up at him through thick lashes, Dave fought the overwhelming urge to bend and kiss her. "We live in a world where promises are made and broken daily. But you could tell me today that you want the stars as a wedding gift, and they would be yours. You could ask me to move this mountain," he looked over his shoulder to the Appalachian backdrop of their ceremony, "and it would be done._

_"There is no price too high, no task too complex, no request too outrageous, that I would not make it happen for you. I will move heaven and earth to make sure you are comfortable in this life, that you have not only everything you need, but every damn thing you want, Courtney Elizabeth. _

_"I am a man of many vices, but chief among them from the day I met you until the day that I die, has been and will always be, you, my Princess."_

Slowing the car to a stop on a secluded path, Courtney listened to the final strains of Paul McCartney's "Maybe I'm Amazed," sniffling slightly as she thought about their first dance at the reception that night. He had held her so tightly against his chest, his hands running up and down her bare back as she tried her best to keep from getting aroused in front of a crowd that included her parents and grandparents.

She cut the engine and reached to the seat beside her, grasping the red roses that she had brought along for the occasion. As she stepped out of the car and smoothed a hand over her short denim skirt, she lifted the flowers to her nose and thought about their first night together as husband and wife.

The suite had been beautiful, bathed in candlelight and the warm scent of vanilla and cinnamon. _Expensive wine chilled in a bucket beside the bed as Dave carried his bride over the threshold and stopped to let her take in the view. _

_The soft strains of slow R&B music filled the room, and the bed was adorned in ivory satin sheets. Setting her feet on the floor, Dave kissed Courtney deeply and then pulled back. "You take a minute to freshen up, okay?" He winked. "I have a surprise for you, but I need a minute to get it ready."  
_

_Nodding, she kissed him again and turned, making her way to the bathroom. Closing the door tightly, she turned and smiled at the bouquet of long-stemmed Fire & Ice roses on the counter. She read the card and smiled wider. "To my wife - My firey passion, and my soothing peace. To a life spent enjoying, infuriating, and above all, consuming each other. Always, Your Husband."_

_Stripping out of her reception gown and dabbing perfume behind her ears, Courtney shook her curls free of the twist they had been in all day. Naked, exposed, and vulnerable, she stepped back into the bedroom to find Dave waiting for her. His bronzed body was a stark contrast to the creamy sheets on which he was stretched, his eyes glinting in the candlelight around him._

_"Damn," she sighed, catching her tongue between her teeth playfully when he smiled up at her. "You look good enough to eat." Allowing her eyes to drift to the bed before him, she sighed inwardly. _

_Dave reached out and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close to him and placing a soft kiss just above her navel as his fingers trailed lower. "Speaking of eating," he smiled as she bent to kiss him softly. "Come here, Princess," he pulled her into his lap, careful not to disturb the mirror on the bed before him, four perfectly cut, snow-white pure lines of powder awaiting them. _

_Shaking her head, Courtney leaned against his chest and studied the mirror. It wasn't that she was opposed to partaking in his favorite recreational activity. But at that moment, the last thing she wanted was a fucking fueled by anything other than their passion for each other. "Lover," she whispered, turning her face to kiss his chin. "Not tonight."_

_For a moment, he thought about telling her how expensive this shit had been, what he had gone through to get it for her. "Princess," he started, knowing the argument was futile before he ever said a word. If Courtney wanted him to put it aside and make love to her sober, he would do it. Because she asked. And he could never say no when she asked._

_She rose to her knees and lifted the mirror, careful not to disturb his meticulous work. Setting it on the bedside table, she straddled Dave's waist and wound her arms around his neck. "The only thing I want inside me tonight," she smiled and dipped her head to kiss the smooth skin over his collarbone, "is you, Lover."_

The last time she stood before his grave, the earth had been fresh, and she had watched numbly as his mahogany casket was lowered into the ground. Time, and weather, had changed it's appearance, as it now blended in with all of the others. His face smiled at her from the headstone, the inscription bringing a slight smile to her lips. "Do not mourn for a life lost too early, but celebrate a life lived too fully."

Courtney ran her fingers over the smooth stone and stared up into the warmth of the early spring sunshine. As she laid the roses on the ground, she knelt and ran her fingers over his photo. "It's our anniversary, Lover," she whispered. "I know I missed it last year."

Hiding away in Italy, Courtney had spent her first wedding anniversary without her husband drinking until she passed out. The thought of spending the day alone, knowing that he wouldn't be there to suprise her with any grand romantic gesture, or just to hold her through the night, had been too much to bear.

But this year was different. This year, she was ready to face him, and the memories that remembering him brought. "I hope you don't have other plans," she sighed as she rested her knees against the cold ground and smiled at the headstone. "Because I fully intend to spend some time alone with my husband."

Dave stood from his recliner and walked to the platform, the smile on his lips about to split his face in half. Reaching into the image, he ran a hand over her cheek and shuddered as she closed her eyes and touched the place with her own hand. "Fuck," he sighed, closing his eyes as a round of emotion took him over. "I love you so fucking much, Princess."

Courtney nodded, his presence closer here than she had ever felt it since his passing. "I know you can hear me," she spoke into the stillness. "And I think there are some things I need to say."


	13. Not Yet

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: It has been brought to my attention that I'm not so good at warning you when there is a tearjerker on the way. So consider this your warning: You may wanna grab a tissue for this one. Enjoy!

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**

During the drive from Manhatten to DC, Courtney had prepared a million things she wanted to say to her husband. But as she looked at his beaming face forever perserved against the backdrop of his tombstone, her mind went blank.

Gripping her blonde hair with both hands, she let out a frustrated groan. "God dammit!" she exclaimed, staring up into the heavens and then throwing her hands up in disgust. "There were so many things I wanted to say to you today. So many things I couldn't wait to get here and tell you."

Watching her closely, Dave watched as she rolled her eyes and placed her hands on her hips. "Just talk to me, Princess. Say anything."

"Right now," she let out a sardonic chuckle and shook her head. "All I can think about at this moment is how much I fucking hate you," she seethed.

If his heart had still been beating, Dave was fairly certain it would have stopped at her declaration. "Hate me? What the hell did I do this time?" he asked with a huff.

Courtney seemed to need no further provocation as she began to rant, pacing back and forth over his grave. "I hate the way you used to talk with your mouth full. What was so goddamn important that you couldn't wait until you swallowed first, huh? Nothing, that's what. Nothing you ever said was so fucking important that it couldn't wait ten seconds for you to finish chewing."

Sinking back into his chair, Dave crossed his arms. A small smirk played on his lips. This was his Princess - the woman who couldn't find loving words to save her life, but had no problem telling him what a bastard he was. Strangely, he found her little outburst endearing and nostalgic.

"And wipe that fucking grin off your face, David," she spat, staring up into the heavens. "I know you're watching me right now, grinning like a damn fool because you think I'm so cute when I'm angry. I'm not trying to be cute, motherfucker," she insisted, nearly stomping her foot.

"I hate that smile, the one that says you know so much more than me because you lived so much longer. Well guess what?" She moved toward his headstone and bent to look into the face of the man who could infuriate her like none other. "That never made you smarter. It just made you fucking old."

Standing, he grimaced. "That was low," he warned, his voice soft as he continued to watch her. Though he knew she couldn't hear his words, he was fairly certain it didn't matter. She was hitting below the belt now, and he wasn't about to let it slide, even if it was only for his own mental well-being.

Gathering steam, Courtney turned her back from the grave and continued talking. "I hate the way you used to call me in the middle of the afternoon, interrupt important meetings, just to tell me how many new ways you were gonna fuck me when I got home."

This time, Dave nearly laughed. "Oh, because you were complaining so much back then," he taunted. He stepped to her image and ran a hand down her spine, noticing that her body visibly shivered at the echo of contact.

Shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders, she stepped away from him and Dave withdrew his hand. "I hate you for waking me up in the middle of the night to make a Pringle run when you were too high to leave the house and you got the motherfucking munchies."

With his arms crossed over his chest, Dave began to grow tired of the "I Hate You" game. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to visit his grave for the first time in an effort to tell him what a no-good piece of shit he had been. She was supposed to be the one person who saw beyond all of that, who loved him even though he had fucked up.

"I hate you for all of those nights that I found you on the bathroom floor. For all of the times you growled at me for shit that wasn't my fucking fault. For all the nights I sat on the bed and watched your coke rages, while you broke all of our expensive shit, and then promised me you'd replace it," she accused.

"What do you want from me?" he asked loudly. "After all the shit I bought you, all the trips and the parties and the clothes? You're gonna throw a broken lamp in my face?" Clenching his fists at his sides, he bit the inside of his lip to keep from growling. "It wasn't even a cute lamp!"

Taking a moment to pause and think of more she hated, Courtney kicked the tombstone, directly in the center of Dave's picture. "But do you know what I hate most about you? You fucking left me. You're not here." Tears began to roll down her cheeks and her voice broke as she sank to the ground. "You died, and I fucking hate you for that."

The switch in her demeanor hit him so hard that Dave took a step back. He was speechless as he watched her lean against his headstone and hug her knees, rocking back and forth gently as the sun set behind her. "Fuck," he sighed, drinking in the sight of her broken beauty.

Whether it was her upbrining, or just some genetic character trait, Courtney had never been one for showing emotion. Especially not in public. But for the first time in her life, she didn't care who saw her tears. She didn't care if the whole world knew that she was weeping openly. Sitting this close to his resting place, feeling his presence so strongly, she felt safe. Secure enough to share her heart as she had never been able to do when he was alive.

"Dave," she finally whispered, when her gasping sobs had faded into a steady stream of tears. "I miss you so much, baby."

Admitting it to Randy was one thing. Telling her family that she missed her husband was okay. But confessing it to Dave was something else all together. It was as if saying the words to him made his absence real.

As Dave stood watching her, he felt as though his heart was breaking. She was crumbling in a way that he had never seen before. Sure, he had watched her cry for him on countless occasions over the course of the last year and a half, but she had never surrendered to it. She had always fought to maintain some degree of control and composure. And seeing his wife fall to pieces, knowing there was absolutely nothing he could do to make it better, nearly killed him all over again.

"You know I love you, right?" she asked, her naturally seductive voice more gravelly than usual through the filter of her tear-strained throat. "I mean, I wasn't lying before - there were things I hated. But there was never a moment that I ever thought about walking away from you, Lover. I never gave up on us, even when everyone else said that I probably should. They said that you would never change, never get better, that I was enabling your problems."

Dave smiled as she rolled her eyes and hugged her knees tighter to her chest. "Maybe I did enable you. Maybe I didn't do things the right way. Hell, maybe I'm the one responsible for allowing you to die." He put a hand out to touch her knee. "But I want you to know that I wouldn't change a thing about the life we had together."

She sat in silence, as Dave stood at her side, for a long moment. Each time she opened her mouth to speak, he waited with rabid anticipation for her next words. But when she said nothing, he found himself content to just be with her one more time.

Finally, her words permeated the air once more. "It's been almost eighteen months, Dave. I should move on." Sighing, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Randy's a good man - I know why you chose him to look after me." Shrugging, she leaned her head back against the stone and closed her eyes. "There are other people who have caught my eye, too," she admitted. Nitro flitted through her mind, and she could almost swear that the air got a little colder. "Cute, motherfucker," she opened her eyes to stare into the sky once more.

Dave wasn't sure he had anything to do with the shift in temperature, but he knew that he didn't want any thoughts of that kid, or even Orton, disturbing this moment. He had never shared her when he was alive, and he wasn't ready to start now. Not yet. Not when she had set this time aside just for him.

"I'm going to have to move on eventually," she whispered. "But I'm not ready to yet." Another surprising round of tears shook her body as Courtney buried her face in her knees. "I'm not ready to let you go yet."

He had purposely kept his contact with her to a minimum over the last year and a half. Knowing full well that he would never stop touching her if he allowed himself more than a moment here and there, he had limited his comfort to a simple touch or whispered word. But tonight, it wasn't enough. For either of them.

Hoisting himself onto the platform, he stepped into the image of his wife, cradling her own small body against his grave. Though he wasn't actually there, he could feel her as though he was. Lowering himself to the ground behind her, he wrapped his arms around Courtney and pulled her tightly against his chest.

Courtney shuddered, a sweeping feeling that started at her shoulders and flowed throughout her body. She couldn't see him, or hear his voice, but she knew. Without a doubt, she knew that Dave was holding her. And he wasn't letting go, either.


	14. Donna Bella

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: I keep telling myself to keep the chapters short, and they just keep getting longer. Sorry! Anyway, it's been about a week since I posted, and I'm sorry for the delay. The last couple of chapters took a lot out of me emotionally, but I hope this one was worth the wait. Enjoy!

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**

Courtney let out an exhausted sigh as she flipped the "Open" sign over on the front door of her shop. It had been a long, busy day, and she was ready to go home and forget about work for the next twelve hours. As she reached to lock the door, a shining pair of blue eyes on the other side of the glass brought a wide smile to her lips.

As she unlocked the door, Randy let himself in and dropped a kiss on her cheek. "You ready to head home, baby?" he asked, checking his watch. "I don't know about you, but I could go for a long, hot bath right about now."

Courtney smiled in spite of herself. "Sounds like heaven, baby," she sighed. Casting a glance around the store, she sucked back a deep breath and wove her fingers through Randy's. "I've got a mountain of dishes to do, though. And my quarterly numbers are due to the accountant tomorrow afternoon."

Randy pouted just a little and rested his hands on her waist. "Can't you just come in early tomorrow?"

While there was nothing she wanted more than to go home and cuddle with him, Courtney knew that he would keep her up half the night, if not all night, and she would have a hard enough time making it to work on time, let alone early. "How about this?" she suggested. "You do the dishes, I'll do the numbers. Then we'll go home and do unspeakable things to each other."

Groaning as she wrapped her arms around his neck, Randy smirked and tightened his arms around her. With a smirk, he licked his lips. "Or," he kissed her nose, "I could go home and get shit ready while you finish up here," he offered. She knew full well he didn't touch dirty dishes in his own home, let alone some that had been used by total strangers. Especially strangers in the Village. "And when you come home, I'll have your bath drawn and we will enjoy being wet all night."

Her spine tingled as he kissed her neck and lifted her feet off the floor slightly. Pulling back, she winked. "Deal," she smiled as he kissed her again. With a soft pat on his ass, she nodded to the door. "See you at home."

Thoughts of what she would do to Randy in the bathtub filled her head as she soaped the dishes and hummed to herself. It had been nearly three weeks since she had visited Dave. Though it had been a difficult night, a calming sense had come over her when she thought about moving forward. And she had to admit that moving forward with Randy made the most sense. Though she wasn't sure how she knew, she was sure that Dave would approve.

Toweling her hands dry, she moved toward the counter and contemplated the stack of receipts awaiting her. _Maybe I can just take 'em home with me. I'm sure Randy will have to sleep at some point. I can just work on them after my bath. _

Her thoughts were cut short by a timid knock on the front door. Startled, she raised her eyes and smiled, her heart beating just a little bit at the shock of the late night visitor. Checking her watch, she made her way to the door. It was only seven thirty, but the winter sky had already turned dark. "What are you doing?" she asked with a chuckle.

He waited until she had unlocked the door to answer. As Nitro stepped past her into the store, he sat a large canvas against one of the tables and held up a non-descript paper bag. "Well, we didn't seem to be making much progress with the whole 'getting you to go to dinner with me' thing," he shot her a million-watt smile and tucked a long strand of blonde hair behind his ear. "So I figured I would bring dinner to you."

Stepping to the counter, he made himself at home as he unpacked take out containers, chop sticks, and napkins. Courtney locked the door again and walked to the other side of the counter, catching his eye as he unpacked. "You realize I could have already been gone for the night," she reminded him.

He nodded and pushed a carton of chicken toward her. "But you're not," he pointed out, the smile never leaving his face as he sank to a nearby bar stool and opened his own dinner.

Randy was waiting for her at home. But she could eat quickly and still get back to him before he started to worry. And the smell of the General Tso's he had brought was way too tempting to pass up. Dipping her chop sticks into the carton, she chewed a bite thoroughly and watched him. "What are you really doing here?" she asked finally.

With innocent eyes, Nitro met her gaze. He opened his mouth, no doubt to spill some exuse, but then shut it again. "Brought you a painting for that wall," he nodded to the bare wall opposite them. When Courtney cringed, he shook his head. "Not the one from the gallery."

From the moment he had made the suggestion that she hang the art in her shop, it had been evident that she had no interest. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the painting had evoked a deep sadness within her. Nitro had never seen someone as stunningly beautiful as Courtney when she smiled, and he wasn't interested in bringing any expression other than sheer joy to her flawless features.

Standing, he moved to the painting and turned it toward her. "The other one sold," he lied. "But I thought this one complimented your color pallet better anyway."

Courtney let her eyes drift over the abstract art. It's deep, rich gold tones and the pops of vibrant burgundy were a perfect match for the shop. After a long moment, she looked into Nitro's proud eyes and raised an eyebrow skeptically. "This is something you just had laying around?"

"Uh huh." He shrugged and opened the messenger bag that had been over his shoulder when he arrived. Withdrawing a hammer and a few nails, he moved to the far wall and began to size up the area for his creation.

"So what's it called?" Courtney asked as she climbed onto the counter and crossed her legs, still eating her dinner.

For a brief moment, he thought about lying to her. Instead, he finished affixing it to the wall and then turned, his eyes sincere. "Donna Bella."

Her heart dropped as the words rolled off of his lips. _Donna Bella_. The Italian words for "beautiful woman." She knew, instantly, that he had created this elegant work of art just for her. A part of her wanted to scream, smack him, and throw him out. But a bigger part was so flattered she couldn't stop the smile from spreading over her face.

"It's amazing," she complimented as he made his way over to the stool again and resumed eating.

For nearly thirty minutes, the pair talked and laughed like old friends. She learned that John Hennigan was born and raised in Los Angeles, but had moved to New York for college, and then stayed to pursue his art. He was now working part-time at a local art museum, while finishing his master's degree in Art History. He had dreams of supporting himself with his paintings and sculputures someday, but would settle for owning his own gallery.

Courtney found that talking to him about her own upbringing in Vermont, and about moving to Washington in high school, came easily for her. While he appeared to be nothing more than a neo-hippie artist, Nitro was politically aware, and had no trouble making conversation with her about the world into which she was born and raised.

"Okay," Nitro chuckled as Courtney checked her watch briefly. She was still perched on the counter as he leaned forward on his elbows, their dinner long since finished. "Most embarrassing moment?"

Blushing deeply, she shook her head. "Oh no. You first," she laughed, nudging him with her knee.

He sat back on the stool and brushed his hair behind his ear. "When I was dancing in college," he started.

"Dancing?" Courtney interrupted.

He nodded and reached into his back pocket. "I thought I told you I put myself through college by dancing," he winked, handing her a tattered picture from his wallet. "Stripping, exotic dancing - whatever you want to call it."

Rolling her eyes, Courtney took the picture, still holding his gaze. "Ah, so you've always been an artist then?" she asked sarcastically.

As her eyes lowered to the picture, Nitro folded his arms and waited for the impending jaw-drop. It wasn't that he was arrogant, but he knew he had a great body. And she wouldn't be the first woman to be impressed. And if she was, he couldn't say he would mind that much.

"Holy hell," Courtney gasped as she finally took in the image in the photo. Nitro stood next to another man, both holding cups of beer in their hands, wearing spandex pants and surrounded by at least ten smiling women.

The first time she had seen Dave naked, she had been stunned. Muscles rippling everywhere, cuts and hard lines begging to be carressed and licked. Randy was an Adonis, muscular and toned. He wasn't as bulky as Dave, but his shoulders and thighs demanded the utmost care and attention. And then there was Nitro.

His smile alone had been enough to cause her heart to flutter for weeks. But his broad shoulders and his defined chest caused it to pound like a drum. His abdomen was a thing of sculpted perfection, leading to a trim waist that she could clearly see her legs wrapped around. Thoughts of sweeping her tongue around each part of his exquisite six-pack lept through her mind as she handed the picture back.

"Nice," she raised an eyebrow, more thankful than ever that she was able to conceal her true emotions at that moment. "So you were dancing," she prodded him to continue his story.

Tucking the picture back into his wallet, he launched into a story about an 80-year-old woman who had grabbed him on stage one night, and refused to let go. "Everyone in the club were laughing their asses off, and I just kept thinking _'someone please get her wrinkley hands off my junk_.' But, of course, I couldn't say that because it's business," he rolled his eyes and sipped from the green tea Courtney had given him. "I'm nothing if not professional."

Laughing until her stomach hurt, Courtney wiped a few tears out of the corners of her eyes. "That's priceless," she finally said, still chuckling.

He watched her laugh, fighting every urge to kiss her that was coursing through his body, and leaned back on the stool. "So what about you? What embarasses Courtney Lane?"

She cringed at the sound of her name rolling off his lips. _Batista_, she inwardly corrected him. _My name is Courtney Lane-Batista. I am a married woman. I **was **a married woman. I'm a widow with a boyfriend. _Checking her watch again, she turned on the counter and hopped off onto the floor. "I'd love to tell you about it sometime, Nitro," she turned and began tossing take-out containers into the trash. "But I have a boyfriend waiting for me at home."

He wondered for a moment why she chose that moment to mention the boyfriend - one that she hadn't said a word about all night. But he knew that he wasn't going to win her over by sticking his nose where it didn't belong. Gathering his own belongings, he nodded easily. "Thanks for dinner, Courtney," he said as she rounded the corner of the counter with her purse over her shoulder.

She smiled and tried to fight the warm feeling in the pit of her stomach. This wasn't supposed to be happening. She wasn't ready for this to happen. She was with Randy. She didn't need this guy. He wasn't anything like her ideal man. He wasn't what she was supposed to want.

He was nothing like Dave.

"Thanks for the painting," she answered, opening the door for him and then following him into the street.

Handing her a piece of paper, Nitro shot another grin her way. "This is kinda forward, and I know you have a boyfriend," he started, pressing the paper into the palm of her hand. "But if you ever wanna talk again."

The brief contact sent a shiver through her spine as she shook her head and slid the paper into her pocket. "I see you damn near everyday, kid," she reminded with a pointed grin.

He just shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets as they began to walk in the same direction. "Sometimes there's shit you can't talk about at work," he said easily. The long silence that followed nearly sent him running in the other way. Things had been going so well. Had he fucked it all up?

"Thanks," she smiled as they stood at a crossroads in the street. "For dinner. And the painting." She tucked a strand of fallen hair behind her ear and tightened her ponytail as she hitched her purse onto her shoulder again. Opening her mouth, she seemed to think twice and shut it again. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He didn't think as he reached out and held her arms, kissing the top of her head. "It's a date," he winked as he turned his back and began to walk the opposite direction.

Courtney didn't watch him leave, only continued on the path to her house. She didn't want to like the eclectic artist. She didn't want to feel comfortable talking to him about shit she didn't talk about with anyone else. She didn't want to feel her skin tingle after he barely touched her. And she certainly didn't want to be horny as hell after seeing one picture of his nearly naked body.

With a determined spring in her step, she sped up her trek toward home. Randy was waiting for her. Randy - the man she was supposed to be with. Randy - the man who belonged in her world, in her life, in her bed. He would fuck the echoes of Nitro's touch off of her skin. He would make her forget. Someone had to make her forget.


	15. It's Official

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: Thanks again for the time you guys spend reading these chapters I'm writing. Though I haven't really plotted this story the way I do most of my shit, I kinda had an outline in my mind from the beginning. Recently, though, that outline took a twist, and I'm more excited than ever to bring you new installments of Angel Dust. So I hope you're still enjoying it - thanks for the great reviews - I love you all - and I hope you Enjoy!

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_"What's wrong?"_

_Biting her lip, Courtney shook her head, careful not to knock her meticulous up-do loose. "Nothing."_

_"Then stop fidgeting," Dave demanded as he rested his hands on the thighs of his pinstriped tuxedo pants._

_Courtney shot him a sidelong glare and folded her arms. "I'm not fidgeting," she insisted. Unfolding her arms, she twisted her hands in her lap as her foot tapped nervously against the floor of the limousine. He raised an eyebrow and she huffed as he put a hand on her knee. "I can't."_

_Dave encircled his girlfriend's tiny waist with his massive arm and pulled her flush against his side. "You're going to be fine," he promised, kissing the side of her head. "It's not like you've never been to one of these things before."_

_Taking a deep breath, Courtney rested her head against his shoulder and blinked her eyes a few times. She had been to many gala events in her life, but this was different. This was the Emmy awards. Television cameras and papparazzi would be in full effect, their glaring cameras probing deeper inside her world than she had ever allowed them. "It's not the same thing," she whispered._

_His thumb ran in slow circles against her satin-covered hip as he rested his chin on her shoulder and dropped a few lingering kisses against her neck. "You havin' second thoughts?" _

_Sighing, she relaxed more fully into his embrace. "Never about us," she answered honestly, her body calming as his lips continued working over her warm skin. They had been together for nearly a year, and though Courtney wanted the world to know she loved this man at her side, she wasn't sure it was time. "I just don't know if I'm ready to let everyone into our lives yet."_

_The moment they stepped out of that car together, she knew that everything would change. If they let anyone see them holding hands, whispering to each other, or smiling, the media would take it as an open invitation to spy on them whenever they felt like it. And she liked the private lives they had been living together for the last eleven months. _

_"They can only get as close as we let them," he assured her in a low voice that always soothed her fears, no matter how big they were._

_But this time, Courtney laughed and pulled away, turning to face her boyfriend. _

_"Are you high?" He made an exaggerated sniffling noise and ran his finger under his nose. "Why? Did I miss some?" he asked with a smirk._

_Rolling her eyes, Courtney smacked his arm playfully. "Listen to me, jackass. Those guys out there," she pointed to the window as they approached the "Drop Off Point" for the evening. "They're vultures. Scavengers. Blood-sucking vampires who will stop at nothing to steal you very soul."_

_Laughing, Dave pulled Courtney into a deep kiss. When he let her go, she gasped for a breath, her eyes closed. "Princess, I am one of those scavengers," he reminded her. "I know how they work."_

_She shook her head and licked her lips, her eyes fluttering open. "You're a journalist," she said, as though there was a difference._

_Grabbing her hand, Dave rested his forehead against Courtney's and held her eyes in a loving gaze. "I want the whole fucking world to know that I am in love with the most beautiful woman on the whole fucking planet, okay?" A proud smile tweaked her lips as he moved his hands to her face and held her cheeks gently. "And I'm not letting any asshole with a camera, or a microphone, or self-induced sense of fucking importance get in the way of our special night."_

_As he tilted her face for another gentle kiss, Courtney felt as though the world were melting away. It didn't matter that Dave was full of shit, that their lives were about to change no matter what he said or did. All that mattered to her was his lips on hers and the contented confidence she had in his love for her._

"Okay, so I know why I'm nervous," Randy started with a laugh, as he adjusted his tie in the bathroom mirror. "But why are you pacing?"

Courtney turned her head to smile at her boyfriend. She wasn't sure she had ever seen someone look as though they had stepped directly off the pages of a magazine quite the way Randy did. Dressed in head-to-toe Armani, he wore the black suit and the scarlett red tie perfectly. And he coordinated expertly with her champagne-colored ball gown and ruby jewelry. They were a stunning pair, and they both knew it.

"I feel like I'm gonna spew," she admitted, chewing her lip as she continued to pace a rut in the bedroom floor.

Resting in the bathroom doorway, Randy watched her with his hands in his pockets. "It's just the Correspondent's dinner, Court," he reminded. "A bunch of stuffy old news men and shit. You already know you'll be the most beautiful woman there. And you'll be with me," he smiled smugly. Nodding, she barely managed a smile. "And that's the problem," Randy muttered.

"What?" Courtney shook her head and managed a full smile. "No, Randy, that's not it at all," she sighed, though they both knew she was lying through her teeth. "It's just that I haven't been to anything like this since Dave was alive," she sighed.

"And everyone at this event is used to seeing you with him," Randy deduced. It wasn't that he hadn't thought of that. He knew that most of the journalistic world knew Courtney as either Sean Lane's daughter, or Dave Batista's wife. He knew that this night, more than most, would be a painful reminder of Dave's absence. But she was his girlfriend, and he wasn't about to attend with anyone else.

They hadn't really been trying to hide their relationship, not to the extent that Courtney and Dave had hid theirs. Tabloids had already run rumors, along with candid pictures of the couple running in the park, or window shopping on Fifth Avenue. They had no concrete evidence, and neither had talked to anyone about their status, but it was assumed, and accepted, that Randy and Courtney were now together.

But arriving at a formal event together would be confirmation. Innocent touches would be magnified. Smiles would be sensationalized. And if Randy slipped and gave into his seemingly constant urge to kiss her or grab her ass? The whole world would know that Courtney Lane was moving on. And they would deem themselves worthy critics of whether or not that was appropriate. If she had worried about stepping out with Dave, the fear with Randy was tenfold.

With his hands on her bare shoulders, Randy smiled down at Courtney. "You want to be with me, right?" He could feel his breath hitch in his chest as he waited for her response. When she nodded, he exhaled. "Alright, then," he smiled and dropped a kiss on her nose. "Let's go show the world what a fine-ass couple really looks like."

As he led her down the stairs and out the front door, to the waiting car in the driveway, Randy tried to steady his own breathing. Tonight was more important than she could possibly understand. For months, Randy had held her while she slept, trying his best to pretend it was his own name rolling over her lips, not her husband's. He had tried to pretend that it was him she was thinking of each time they fucked in a new place, or a new position. But tonight he stopped pretending.

Tonight, he started convincing Courtney that he was better than a substitute Dave. Tonight, he proved to her that he had moved from her husband's shadow and into a spotlight all his own. And tonight, he showed her that he wanted her in that spotlight with him.


	16. Moving On

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: Okay, so it's kind of soon for a new chapter - I've been trying really hard to give you all plenty of time to read between chapters - but I'm on a roll and I couldn't wait to put this one up. A lot of you have been asking what's up with Dave - so here's a chapter all his own. Again, thanks for the reviews and Enjoy!**

**Warning: This chapter contains sexual content.

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"I'm feeling kind of underdressed," Eddie commented flatly as he watched the President's annual Correspondent's Dinner with Dave. Shifting in his seat, he tried his best to feign some interest. "Now I know why they didn't televise this thing," he added, sighing heavily as Dave remained silent. "This shit is boring as hell, man."

Dave said nothing as he watched Courtney concentrating on the speech by the Commander-In-Chief. She would have been breathtaking, if he had any breath left to take. Dressed in a conservative gown of muted colors, she was radiant. Her eyes shone brighter than the jewels around her neck and in her ears. "She's stunning," he mumbled.

Leaning forward, Eddie watched the platform as Randy bent to whisper something in Courtney's ear. "I don't get something, Homes," he said as Courtney's lips curled into a sly smirk. "You know he's not telling her how impressed he is with the President's speech." Turning his head, he snapped his fingers. "Why are you smiling?"

Dave rolled his eyes. He didn't expect Eddie to understand. Hell, he didn't expect anyone to understand why he was grinning like an idiot as his wife entertained, no doubt, completely inappropriate murmmerings from her new boyfriend. "Because she is." He said nothing else as his thoughts began to drift.

_"Motherfucker, I am not playing," Courtney narrowed her eyes and rested her hands on her bare hips. "Give 'em back!"_

_Dave reclined slightly in his office chair and twirled her black lace panties on his index finger. "You got somewhere to be, Princess?"_

It was the first time he had ever used what would become his signature nickname for his love, and Dave found his smile widening as he remembered her reaction.

_Rolling her eyes, Courtney slid her tweed skirt over her thin legs and zipped it quickly. "Ya know what, Lover?" She slurred the name sarcastically as she fought to clasp her bra while shovelling her hair from her face. "You want 'em so bad? Keep em. I've got plenty."_

When she had stopped by his office that night on her way home from class, she hadn't expected him to be there. She had explained that she was just going to leave a little note on his desk, something to brighten his day when he arrived the next morning. Though they had only been dating for a week, the gesture had warmed him.

_She reached over the desk to retrieve her shirt when Dave grabbed her wrist. Though he felt her body shudder at the contact, her eyes remained stoic, completely unaffected. With slight force, he pulled her down into his lap as another smirk tickled his lips. "You really wanna leave me here like this?"_

_Courtney groaned as she felt Dave's erection pressing against her back. "I have classes in the morning," she reminded him, her head resting on his shoulder as he turned to kiss her cheek and then the corner of her lips. _

_He pulled her bra straps down her arms and wrapped his hands around her breasts, massaging and kneading them until the nipples hardened into tight peaks. Stopping his kisses long enough to peer over her shoulder, he noticed that she was pulling her skirt up her thighs and gently rotating her hips back against him. As he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, she groaned and stood. _

_Sheathed inside her fully, Dave found himself groaning into Courtney's mouth when she turned her head and captured his lips with hers. _The first time, he had shoved all of his paperwork aside and laid her back on his desk. The second time, she had pulled him to the floor with her.

But that last time, with her legs spread over the arms of his leather chair, their bodies rocking in unison, and their tongues dancing softly - that was his favorite. He had fucked a lot of women in his time, and he had enjoyed most of them. But Courtney different than all of them that night. It wasn't just the fact that she was merely 22 to his 36. It wasn't just that she was barely beyond virginal.

Though it seemed somewhat shallow and "guy-like" to admit, Dave had known that night, pressing gentle kisses to her spine as she bounced on his shaft, that he loved her. Not only because she was the best lay he'd ever had, but because her heart shown through every aspect of every action.

It was because she called him every morning, just before dawn, to make sure he got up in time to take his morning jog before work. It was because she remembered every major interview he had planned, and always sent him a "Good Luck" text message. It was because she brought him dinner at the office when he had to work late and cancel their dates. And it was because she easily controlled his body in a way that no other woman had ever been able to accomplish.

_After a screaming release, Courtney hopped out of his lap and dropped to her knees. Smiling up at him, she blushed and took his shaft in her hand. "I've never done this before," she whispered. He had heard those words before. He never believed them until the moment he began to brush her sweaty hair from her face as she coaxed his orgasm fiercely with her lips. _

The speech was over by the time Dave finally shook his head and returned to the moment at hand. "Who's that?" he asked, pointing to the image.

Eddie shrugged and took a loud drink from the straw in his soda cup. "How am I supposed to know that?" he asked.

Dave took a closer look as Randy tightened his grip around Courtney's waist and continued his conversation with the man in the image. "That's that guy from E! television," he stated, noting the uncomfortable look in Courtney's eye. "Get her away from him, jackass! She hates the paparazzi."

Reaching out to smack the back of Randy's head, Dave let out a growl. "What the hell?" he asked, trying again. His hand was stopped at the edge of the image, unable to make contact with Orton. "What the fuck is going on?" he demanded angrily.

With a sad look in his eye, Eddie bit his lip. He wished against everything that someone else could remind his friend of the rules. "When they forget the feeling of your fingers on their skin, you won't be able to touch them," he stated softly.

The words stung Dave like a slap in the face. He had wanted this. It was what he was pushing for - why he was using Trish and obsessing daily over how happy the new couple was together. They were supposed to find solace in each other.

But Randy was forgetting him. And that meant that Courtney wouldn't be far behind.


	17. Do You Love Him?

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: Finally, I can update the chapter I wrote days ago! Hope you guys enjoy!

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By the time Courtney and Randy stepped out for their night at the Correspondent's Dinner, she had nearly forgotten how celebrity tasted. But the day after their outing, she was remembering all too clearly the blinding glare of the spotlight.

The sidewalk outside the coffee shop was abuzz with photographers and reporters, all snapping her photo while she worked. Patrons inside the shop increased as well. But Courtney couldn't really complain, since in the influx in business made it possible for her to hire extra help. And extra help meant she could spend some time at home, resting her weary feet and unwinding for once.

Trish sat on the couch, watching a horrible 80's movie as Courtney moved into the living room, handing her friend a huge cup of hot cocoa. "Sit down," Trish insisted as Courtney flopped onto the seat beside her. "You're makin' me nervous with all that pacing."

Shooting her friend a withering smile, Courtney took a drink of her cocoa. "I'm glad you could come over," she said honestly. As long as she could remember, even growing up, Courtney hadn't had very many girl friends. There were a few, here and there along the way, but for the most part, she had been relegated to her parents' associates and other society kids. And she didn't consider any of them her friends.

The smile Trish shot her was warm and inviting. "Are you kidding? I'm about three steps away from moving in with you, just so I can hang out on this couch some more." She wiggled into the overstuffed sofa a little further and sighed happily.

Before Courtney could respond, the front door opened. "Hello, Ladies," Randy greeted with a smile as he sat his briefcase on the entry table and turned to close the door. Moving to the couch, he dropped a kiss on Courtney's forehead. "You're home early."

Checking her watch, she nodded. "So are you. I thought you had a business dinner tonight."

Randy loosened his tie and shrugged his navy blue jacket off his broad shoulders. "Got cut short. I have a flight to catch."

Raising an eyebrow, Courtney set her feet on the floor. "A flight?"

"Afghanistan," he answered nonchalantly as he moved up the stairs toward their bedroom.

"What?" Courtney's heartbeat accelerated as she stood and shot an apologetic look at Trish. "Excuse me for a minute?"

Trish nodded and pointed to the stairs. "Of course."

Following the path Randy had just taken, she found him already throwing clothes into a bag on the bed. "What do you mean you're going to Afghanistan?" she demanded. She clearly remembered the days Dave would come home, hurridly pack, and run to catch a flight to some war-torn country. And she hadn't liked it then, either.

"Huge interview opportunity," Randy explained, moving back to the closet. "I should only be gone a few days."

"Should?" Courtney moved into the room and sat on the bed. Just a few nights ago, she had listened to the President tell a room full of journalists that the situation in the Middle East was getting better. She didn't buy it for a second. Almost daily, Americans were still dying in Iraq and Afghanistan - journalists had died - and she wasn't interested in her boyfriend being one of them. "Randy, look at me."

He turned, three pairs of khaki pants in his hands, and smiled easily. "Baby, relax," he reassured, laying his clothes on the bed and then dropping another kiss on the top of her head. "It's a routine interview. I'm gonna go in, set up, let the boys do their thing, and I'll be back by the weekend."

"And what if you're not?" She didn't want to show that it bothered her. But it did. "What if something happens to you? Then what?"

Finally stopping in the middle of the room, Randy rested his hands in his pockets. "I love that you're worried about me," he smiled softly. "But I promise you, Court," he moved to her and pulled her up, holding her face to his. "Nothing is going to happen to me. I'll be fine." He kissed her nose.

She wasn't one for acting like a child, but Courtney couldn't help pouting her bottom lip. "Alright, fine," she finally whispered. Narrowing her eyes, she stepped back from his touch. "But if you come back in a body bag, I'm never speaking to you again."

"Deal," he laughed easily as he changed his clothes and stuffed a baseball hat over his hair. "I gotta get goin'," he winked, gripping his duffle bag with one hand and her arm with the other. Pulling her close, he kissed her, sucking gently on her bottom lip until she moaned and relaxed against his body. "I could maybe spare a few minutes."

Courtney shook her head and laced her fingers through his. "Trish is downstairs," she warned, leading him out of their room.

Randy wanted to protest that she never used to have trouble fucking Dave in front of company, but if he was honest, he really didn't have time to ravage her the way he wanted to. Her reaction to his departure was almost enough for him to get off on, anyway. How long had he waited for her to show some sign of commitment to their relationship? The fact that she had nearly cried when he announced he was leaving made him feel better than any quickie ever could. Almost.

After a quick good-bye to Trish, he stopped at the front door and set his bag down, pulling Courtney into his arms again. "I'll call you when I get there, okay?" She nodded and rested her hands on his chest. "Don't worry about me, Baby." When she looked into his eyes, he shot her a brilliant smile. "Why would I go do some stupid shit when I know you're here waiting for me?"

Courtney felt her heart flop a little bit. Sometimes, when he smiled just the right way or rubbed her cheek softly, she could feel the butterflies stirring in the pit of her stomach. "Okay." Her lips twitched with a slight smile as he pressed another soft kiss to her mouth.

They held each other for another second and then he moved to pick up his bag. Kissing her forehead, he said, "I love you."

With a blush, she motioned toward the car and smiled. "Be careful," she warned as he waved good-bye and headed down the driveway. Returning to the couch, Courtney sat again and sighed. "Why do I always get stuck with the fucking Indiana Joneses of journalism?"

Trish grinned knowingly. The look on Courtney's face was new to the angel, and she was sure that Dave was noticing it, too. "Do you love him?" she asked suddenly.

Courtney looked confused. "I'm not. . . I don't," she stopped and searched for the right answer. "Does it matter?"

Though she knew she was in danger of over-stepping her bounds, Trish found herself compelled to say something. "It's not the same, huh?" Courtney shrugged and shook her head, though her face showed no sign of emotion. "Do you think it's because you're trying to replicate your marriage?"

With a sigh, Courtney cut the power on the television and turned her body on the couch. "Have you ever lost someone, Trish?"

_Everyone I loved_, Trish thought, but only nodded. "Yes."

"It's not a conscious decision," Courtney tried to explain. "It's not like I'm trying to replace Dave - not like I want to just substitute him. It's just," she stopped and searched for the word. "It's compulsive. Like a hunger you don't even realize you're trying to feed. Dave was my blanket, and when he was gone, the world got really fucking cold."

Staring at the floor, Trish thought about Courtney's words. It should have been easier on the other side, moving on and letting go. But she understood the weight of the young woman's words more than she could ever admit to her new friend. "And you're just trying to stay warm."

Before she realized what she was doing, Courtney leaned forward and took Trish's hand in her own. She smiled when Trish greeted her eyes. "Thanks," was all she said before turning the television back on and returning to their previous game of mocking the plot.

But Trish was lost in thought. She had come to Courtney as a favor to Dave, but she had accidentally found herself stumbling into an irresistable friendship with this woman beside her. And that wasn't a good thing. At all.


	18. 3:30 Wake Up Call

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: As has become the case with most of my stories lately, this chapter is nothing like I originally intended. But Dave is a pretty intimidating and persuasive guy when he wants to be. So who I was to tell him he couldn't have his own chapter? Seriously - would you tell him "no"? That's what I thought. Anyway - Enjoy!

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Time didn't exist for Dave Batista anymore. The only guage he had for day and night was watching his wife plod through her days on Earth. When her alarm clock went off, a new day was starting. When she finally stopped running around that damned coffee shop and went home to collapse in her bed, he knew that the day was over.

Eddie had warned him, on occasion, that there would come a day when watching her would grow tiresome. He informed his friend that observing the living was recreational, but that it would lose it's appeal someday. But as the days passed by, and Dave continued watching his bride, he knew it was all a lie.

He had never tired of her when he was alive, and he damn sure wasn't going to in death. Besides the fact that there was absolutely nothing else to do on the other side, he found his interest and fascination with her was stronger now than it had been before. He could remember nights spent in the stillness of their bedroom, seeing the hours tick away over her shoulder as he watched her sleeping.

And now to watch her sleep was an even greater pleasure. Just to see her peaceful smile, to hear the sounds of her subtle snoring or moaning, was enough to tide him over for those few hours she wasn't actually doing something. The flush in her cheeks when she was running around during the day, trying to accomplish more than any sane person would ever attempt, was beautiful. But the peaceful glow she carried in dreams was beyond stunning.

Reclined in his chair, he watched her chest rising and falling beneath one of his old tee shirts as she rested alone in the bed she normally shared with Randy. He had been out of the country for almost a week, and it brought Dave both great pain and pleasure to see her mark the days off of the kitchen calendar in anticipation of her new boyfriend's return.

Trish assured him that, even if Courtney did love Randy, she would also always have a special place in her heart for him. He was a selfish bastard by nature, and a part of him wanted that special place to consume her for the rest of her life. But every time Randy called to check in, and he saw the smile that spread across her face as she teased him with flirtatious promises of their erotic reunion, he couldn't help but pat himself on the back. His two favorite people were happy, and they had him to thank for that.

The cell phone on Courtney's bedside table rang at 3:30 in the morning. She rolled and searched for it with one hand as the other shovelled her blonde locks from her face. "Hello?" she muttered. . . "Hey." Dave leaned forward as a look of concerned etched onto her flawless features. "That's not funny, Orton." Her voice was thickened by sleep as she sighed. "When are you coming home?" His answer did not satisfy her. "What happened to a week?. . . Ya know what? I don't fuckin' care if you've got an interview with Bin Laden his damn self," she spat.

Leaning back, Dave allowed himself another smile. He had heard this argument before. He had sat on the other end of that phone while she bitched him out for not keeping a scheduled time of arrival. If he closed his eyes and merely listened, he could pretend she was still talking to him.

"No, I know that," she sighed slightly, rolling fully onto her back and staring at the ceiling. "Randy, I know that it's your job. I get that," she repeated. "I know, baby. . . Be careful, okay? . . . Call me if anything changes. . . Okay. . . No, but maybe by the time you get home." She laughed and then moaned. "Oh, is that so? . . . We'll see. You just bring that big dick back to me firmly attached to your hard body and I promise I'll get over it. " Dave opened his eyes as she smiled. His lips mimicked the same grin. "Alright. . . 'Night."

She tossed the phone onto the bed and struggled to sit. "Fuck it all," she said loudly, staring at the ceiling. "You couldn't ask a normal man to look after me?" she asked Dave. He just laughed. "This is the thanks I get for standing by you through binges and trips and enough sober bull shit to fill a legal pad? Another boyfriend who can't resist rushing headlong into battle?"

She continued mumbling as she swung her legs to the floor and shed the tee shirt she was wearing and threw on some running clothes. Why she was going out at 3:30 in the morning, Dave wasn't sure. But it wasn't out of the ordinary for her as of late, either.

With one of Randy's ball caps shoved over her hair, she headed out of the house and pocketed her keys. She would walk around the block, curse out a stray cat or two, and then head home and get ready for work. He knew that she would feel better after she got a little air.

Dave watched in silence as she continued walking, still muttering to herself about the similarities between himself and her new man. And he couldn't help but nod. This is what he had wanted - someone like himself to step in and keep her from growing lonely in his absence. Sure, she would get as aggrevated with Orton as she had always been with him. But they would work through it. And they would be good together.

As he stood by the platform, poised to put a reassuring hand on his wife's shoulder, he stopped cold. When Courtney grinned brightly, Dave cringed and gritted his teeth. "You have got to be kidding me," he groaned.

"Hey," Courtney greeted, laughing as Nitro enveloped her in a friendly hug. "What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?"

He stepped back, a wide smile splitting his lips. "Workin' on my final project," he explained. "I needed some inspiration."

She bit her lip and looked up at him through thick lashes. "And did you find what you were looking for?"

He nodded and stuffed his hands in his pockets, a knowing glint in his eye. "I think I did."

"Good grief," Dave groaned at the cheesey line. But as he watched his wife begin to walk with quirky artist, he went from annoyed to angry. "Who the fuck do you think you are, Kid? Get the fuck away from my wife."

His threatening fell on deaf ears as the pair continued walking and talking. That, of course, didn't keep Dave from ranting about how wrong they were for each other and about how this fucking kid deserved a vicious ass-beating.

He stopped complaining only when Courtney followed Nitro into a modest brick building. They walked up four flights of stairs before he stopped at a heavy sliding door and motioned for Courtney to enter. "Welcome to my home," Nitro said proudly.

Courtney stepped inside, glanced around at the open studio loft and then turned back to her host, laughing slightly. "Nitro, it's amazing."

And Dave found, for the first time alive or dead, he wanted to vomit.


	19. A Shocking Confession

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: I am anxiously awaiting your reviews for this chapter. Good or bad. Enjoy!

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The apartment loft that Nitro called home was perfectly suited for a struggling art student. The open space sported bare, brick walls on three sides. The fourth wall was three quarters windows, with a seat that ran along the bottom, the entire length of the wall. For a moment, she could clearly see herself sitting there to drink her coffee in the morning.

Shaking her head, she allowed her eyes to drift the room again. The kitchen was basic, with appliances that appeared to be older than both of them put together. An industrial steel table constituted his dining room, and the Salvation Army couch and banged-up coffee table appeared to be the living room. A large matress sat against the wall to her left, unmade.

It was his studio that drew her attention, though. Against the window, and running almost the length of the room, was a raised platform, filled with easels, tables of supplies, a potter's wheel, and a small kiln. Projects in varying degrees of completion were scattered about carefully, and Courtney found herself mesmerized by the works as she walked toward them and stepped up onto platform.

Turning, she shook her head and smiled. "You really are an artist," she said.

He nodded and moved to the kitchen, putting a pot of coffee on as he washed his hands and then searched the cabinets. "I don't have much to eat. I don't get paid until Friday, and things have been kinda tight lately," he explained.

Tucking her hair behind her ears, Courtney moved toward him and lowered herself onto the barstool at the table. "I'm not really hungry," she admitted, resting her elbow against the cool surface.

"So," Nitro smiled brightly as he leaned against the kitchen sink and looked at her. "You never did tell me why you were walking around the Village at 3:30 in the morning."

With a sigh, she shook her head. "I couldn't sleep," was all she said.

It wasn't that she didn't want to tell him. The thing that bothered her most was that she DID want to tell him. She wanted to talk to him about things she usually didn't talk about. Something about this guy made her want to open up, to share herself, and it scared her more than she was willing to admit.

They barely knew each other. She wasn't even sure they could be considered friends. But the chemistry between them was increasingly undeniable, and somewhere inside, she knew something was going to have to break soon. Either she had to stop talking to him all together, or she had to actually say something.

Nitro didn't push her to speak further, only poured a cup of coffee and slid it toward her on the table. Sitting on a stool opposite her, he leaned forward on his elbows and gave her another brilliant grin. "So the way you were grumbling to yourself and cursing under your breath? That was all about insomnia?"

It was as if she couldn't help smiling at him. And she decided that it was time to take a chance. It was time to open up. She had a boyfriend. She wasn't looking to hook up. But she realized that she wanted a friendship with this beautiful man before her, and if that was going to happen, she had to start acting like a friend in return.

"Randy's staying in Afghanistan. He doesn't know when he's coming home," she explained softly, her eyes drawn to an imaginary speck on the table top. "He called to say that they had gotten their interview, but there was a higher military official willing to speak with them and he just can't leave." There was a tiny lilt of bitterness in her voice, but she hoped he wouldn't notice.

He did. "Sounds like a killer opportunity, Court," he stated simply. "So what's the problem?"

Courtney huffed. "The problem is that sometimes Randy is so much like Dave, I wanna fuckin' scream," she answered without thinking. Had she stopped to process the words, she would realize this was far too personal. Returning to the whole "Most Embarrassing Moment" conversation would have been so much better. "That sounds awful," she sighed, resting the palm of her hand against her forehead.

With a timid hand, Nitro reached out and pulled on Courtney's arm until she raised her head and looked at him. "You're allowed to have feelings, ya know?" She rolled her eyes as he placed her hand on the table and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Even if it's not politically correct."

The words made her cringe. She could see his heart so clearly, just by looking into his eyes. The tone of his voice was gentle, and his gaze said that he wanted her to say whatever was on her mind. She wasn't sure anyone had ever looked at her quite like that.

"It's just that Dave always had what I liked to call 'The Superman Complex.' Like he thought he was completely invincible or something. Didn't matter how worried I got, or how much I told him he was doing something stupid. It was like he cut the breaks on the train and then stood in the middle of the tracks. Almost like he was daring it to hit him." She shook her head.

Realizing that he was still holding her hand, Nitro leaned back on his stool and wrapped both hands around his coffee mug. There were a million things he wanted to know about her, wanted to ask. But he got the sinking feeling that she hadn't been able to express herself very much, and he was more than willing to let her lead the conversation in any way she desired.

Gathering steam, Courtney continued talking, barely looking up. She studied the top of the table as though she could clearly see her husband's reflection in it - almost as though she were talking more to herself than she was to Nitro. "It's like he had this tunnel vision, ya know? Like he knew what he wanted, and he knew how to get it, so he just took off toward it without a look back. But he couldn't see past how it would affect his future, our future.

"And it was like he couldn't look around, couldn't take his eyes off whatever they were fixed on, long enough to realize that I was over there on the sidelines, fucking scared shitless that he wasn't gonna make it through this one, or the next one, or the one after that." She lifted her mug to her lips, her thin hands trembling. "It's like he was so far inside his own fucking head that he missed an entire world around him."

Nitro was well-educated, and he was a deep thinker. But he wasn't a part of the world Courtney and Dave had existed in. He knew that any advice he had to offer would sound like the naive ramblings of an outsider. But he spoke from his heart when he stood to refill his coffee mug. "You're not talking about interviews in the Middle East, are you?"

She shot him a look that told him to butt out. But her words betrayed her, as though they didn't need her permission to tumble past her lips. "He went on some pretty dangerous assignments, but he was a smart guy," she conceded. "I didn't really worry about him as much as I do Randy." Shaking her head, she smiled. "I don't know what that says about me."

With a soft smile of understanding, Nitro straddled his stool again. "To me? It says that there was a bigger battle Dave was fighting. One that was a greater threat to his safety, and to your future together, than a few bullets and terrorists." When she bit her lip and stared hard at the table, he reached out for her hand again. "Courtney, I'm not downplaying it. I think you have every right to worry about Randy's safety. But that's not why you're about to cry."

She steeled herself and met his eyes with a hard glare. "I don't cry." He rolled his eyes and she couldn't help but smile just a bit. "Alright, fine, I might cry a little bit. Sometimes. But not often." If she kept the mood like this, slightly light, she could avoid the other issues.

His eyes turned serious, though. "I just want you to be yourself." There was another eye roll on her part, and he could see the walls, the defenses, going up once more. "I used to see you on television and in magazines," he admitted, completely unabashed in his confession. "You smiled for cameras, Courtney. No doubt, there were moments when you looked happy.

"But the way you smile at the coffee shop - it's so different. When you let go of Courtney Lane, Senator's daughter? And when you aren't worried about being Courtney Batista, major television mogul's wife? When you don't even realize that you're just being you?" He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and smiled. "It's the most beautiful thing I have ever seen."

Everything inside her chest constricted and told her to run. Everything about the way his words were washing over her, filling her, scared her shitless. But as much as she wanted to run, her body wouldn't move. She was compelled to sit longer, to watch him, to talk. She couldn't explain it, but she didnt really want to try, either.

"Thanks," was all she said as they shared a long moment of comfortable silence.

Finally, Nitro leaned forward again and tapped the table. "I know this is going to sound weird," he started, biting his lip as she turned her head curiously. "But there's nothing you can tell me, Courtney, that's going to change the way I feel about you."

"Bull shit," she stated with a laugh. When he looked surprised, she shook her head and leaned back on her stool. "That is total bull shit! I mean, whether we want to admit it or not, we all have preconceived ideas of who the people we _think _we know are. You've got an image of me in your mind - whatever that may be - and anything I say that slides outside the boundaries of that image is going to change the way you see me. Maybe not for the worse - but it will change."

He stared at her for a moment, trying his wrap his mind around her words. "Okay, rephrase then," he smiled. She was challenging him, and he liked that. It had been far too long since a woman stepped to him the way she just had, and it had, indeed, changed the way he looked at her. "There is nothing you could tell me that would stop me from wanting to be close to you."

Something flared inside of her in that moment. Something that she hadn't felt in nearly two years. Raising an eyebrow, she crossed her arms over her chest. "Is that so?"

As if rising to the challenge, Nitro nodded and opened his arms. "Try me," he encouraged. "You go ahead and tell me something that is so heinous, something so completely outside the bounds of who I think you are, that you think I will usher you out that door and avoid you for the rest of my natural life."

Caught up in the fire of the moment, Courtney didn't even hesitate to share her darkest, most intimate secret. "I was pregnant once," she said. "Two years ago. Three months before Dave died."

Though he was surprised, Nitro felt a wave of emotion as his heart went out to the woman before him. He knew she didn't have a child now, and could only assume that the thought of raising a life she had created with her dead husband would be too painful a reminder.

"I can't blame you for not going through with that," he started, sitting on the stool beside her and touching her arm. "I mean, you loved your husband, and the pain of losing him was fresh, so," he started to explain that he understood.

But Courtney shook her head and pulled away from his grasp. "I aborted the baby before Dave died. I never told him about it." Her face was stoic, all emotion gone as she looked into Nitro's face and raised her eyebrow again. "So what do you think of me now?"


	20. Courtney's Addiction

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: So I wasn't going to post this chapter tonight, but since Kim reminded me that it's been awhile, I thought I'd do my best to keep you guys satisfied. I know the updates aren't coming as quickly for this story as some of my previous work, but the story is somewhat emotionally draining and sometimes I have to take a step back and strengthen my grip on sanity. Thank you all for your ongoing support of this story. It means a lot to me. Enjoy!

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After a long moment of collecting himself, Nitro crossed his arms and leaned against the table beside her. "I think you're trying your hardest to make me go," he deduced. Sinking to the chair beside her, he put a hand on her knee. "But I'm right here." With a soft look, he placed his palm on her cheek, his compassionate eyes boring into her. "And I'm not letting you run from this anymore."

She wanted to scream. At first, she had told him just to shock him. But as she felt the weight of her confession, she realized the severity of what she had said. She had never told anyone about the baby - not Dave, her mother, Trish, or Randy. None of the people she considered herself close to knew about her decision, but she had felt the need to blab it to a virtual stranger.

"Why didn't you tell him?" Nitro's words interrupted her thoughts.

Taking a deep breath, she decided that she had gone too far to back out now. Though she would insist that she didn't care, that she didn't think about it, that it was in the past, part of her wanted to talk about this. And for reasons she couldn't explain, she wanted to talk to him.

"Dave and I had talked about having kids for awhile. Even before we got married, we would talk about how great it was going to be to have little smiling faces around our home. He would have been ecstatic," she almost whispered as her gaze returned to the table top. "I couldn't wait to get home from the doctor's that night to tell him. I couldn't wait to see the look on his face when I told him he was going to be a daddy."

_Nearly skipping for joy, Courtney made her way down the hall of apartment building and toward her home. Dave's car was parked out front, and an inexplicable sense of excitement filled her chest as she thought to the conversation they were about to have. They were going to be parents. In eight months, she was going to bring his child into the world. _

_As she entered the apartment, a smile cracked her lips. She could hear Dave's footsteps down the hall. "Should I just jump into his arms and blurt it out? Or should I wait a little bit and make it a big announcement?" _

_Even as she was considering, her husband stepped out of the shadowed hallway. His face was a perfect image of contentment as he smiled at her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "God, I missed you," he breathed in her ear as he lifted her feet off the floor._

_Courtney felt her heart racing as she hugged his neck. Pulling back, she smiled up at him. And her heart stopped. _

_The movement of his eyes, the way they shifted blankly, as if of their own accord, told her that he was already high. And it was only 6:00. The words she had been so eager to say moments ago wouldn't come out. She loved him, despite his flaws, but something was holding her back._

_The ringing of his cell phone interrupted the moment as Dave kissed her nose and answered. "What?" His voice was clipped, a sudden change from the sweet man who had embraced her mere moments earlier. "So?" He rolled his eyes and turned his back, one hand on the top of his head as he listened. "You said I would have it tonight." He let out a growl that sounded more animal than human. "I don't give a rat's ass about your daughter's fucking dance recital," he spat. "Do not fuck with me, man. I'm not playing. I will not hesitate to come down there and rip your fucking throat out in front your goddamn family. Is that clear?" _

_As he continued his threatening, his fist came into contact with the wall at his left. The cracking sound caused Courtney to jump. It wasn't that she had never seen him angry. But she knew this wasn't about business. He would never punch a wall over business. And though it was clear he was already barely holding on to sobriety, he was already contemplating the next fix._

_As he hung up the phone, Courtney stepped away. This is what it was. This was the man she loved, and this was how it would always be. The proposition that had, just minutes ago, felt like the greatest joy in the world, now felt like an heartbreaking anvil on her soul. She knew that Dave loved her, but that he equally loved his vices. Was there any room left for him to love their child?_

"_Where are you going?" He asked suddenly as he snapped his phone shut. Courtney turned, saying nothing. "Don't start with me," he warned._

_Anger flared in her chest. How dare he talk to her like that? If he only knew. . . But he couldn't know. At the moment, he didn't deserve to know. "Fuck you," she hissed, starting her trek back to their bedroom._

"_What did you just say to me?" Dave growled, moving quickly to the bedroom, only to find his wife throwing her things in an overnight bag. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?"_

_There were a lot of things that she had come to fear over the course of their relationship, but his anger was not one of them. No matter how pissed off he was, he never laid a hand on her. He never had, and she felt secure that he never would. _

_With a glare, she zipped her bag and hitched it on her shoulder. "Get out of my way."_

_Grabbing her hand, Dave sighed and stepped aside. "Do you have any idea how much shit I have going on in my life right now?"_

_Shrugging, she pulled away from him. "Yeah, I do. You're a powerful guy. Your life is stressful. You knew it would be when you chose it." He didn't seem to appreciate her answer. "Get over it."_

"I couldn't take care of him and a baby," Courtney sighed, running her fingers through her hair. "I just couldn't."

Part of him wanted to pull her into a tight hug and hold her until that sad expression disappeared. But Nitro bit his lip, something still not clicking in his mind. There was so much she wasn't saying, and though it was clear that Dave had a drug problem, something else didn't make sense. "You wanted to have kids with him, right?" Courtney nodded. "Why not just ask him to quit?"

Rolling her eyes, she leaned back on her stool and crossed her arms. "You wouldn't understand," she sighed.

"I don't understand," he agreed. "You were pregnant with his child. You loved him. You couldn't have just sat him down and said 'Look, this shit has got to stop'?"

The strained whisper that came from her throat was foreign to him. "He hated when people got on his ass about it." Looking up, her shoulders sagged at his confused expression. "Plenty of people told Dave he had a problem, okay? It wasn't like he wasn't aware." Swallowing hard, she tucked her hair behind her ear. "He didn't need to hear it from me, too."

They were silent for a moment, and Nitro knew he had to ask. But he also knew that his next question had the ability to send her reeling. "I don't want to, in any way, disrespect your late husband, Courtney," he started carefully. "But his addiction was clearly altering the life you wanted to have. Why stick with him?"

Without permission or warning, the tears began to fall. It wasn't the first time someone had asked her the question. But it was the first time she actually felt obligated to give an answer. Something about the way he probed her with innocent compassion. He wasn't trying to change her mind - only to understand her.

"He needed me," she whispered. When Nitro didn't respond, she took a deep breath and met his eyes. "My whole life, I've always been behind the scenes. I hate attention, always have. I'm always happiest when I'm helping someone else succeed." With a small smile of reminiscence, she tucked her hair behind her ears. "But sometimes it's easy to get lost in the shuffle.

"When you're working on a campaign, all parts of the team are important," she tried to explain the only way she knew how. "When I was younger, the team was me and my mom, standing behind my father to make him look as impressive as possible. When I got older, there was always a team around me, a group of lobbyists working toward the same agenda. And I liked that.

"But I started feel disposable. Like, at any minute, someone with more experience, more charisma, more saavy could just step in and take my spot. Dave made me feel indispensable." She looked into Nitro's eyes and licked her lips. "When we were together, it was us against the world, and I knew, I KNEW, that no one would ever take my place with him."

He watched her eyes change as she talked about the man she had loved, and about how he fed her need for importance, her sense of purpose. Once again, his perception of her was altered. The woman he had once viewed as indestructible, independent to a fault, was crumbling before his very eyes. She said that Dave needed her, but it was clear that she needed his dependence on her just as much.

He leaned back on his stool and nodded. After another long moment of silence, he stood and spoke. "Can I ask you one more thing?"

Shrugging, she sniffled and crossed her arms, leaning forward on the table. "Why not?"

A faint smile teased the corners of his lips. "Do you feel any better now?"

Narrowing her eyes for a moment, she considered his words. Though she had given her body to Randy on several occasions, Nitro was the first person since Dave with whom she had shared her soul, and that in itself was a bit daunting. She was completely unsure of what would come of this conversation, but they had surely crossed a line into something deeper than mere acquaintances.

Without thinking, she nodded. "A little bit. Yeah."


	21. Cold Hard Bitch

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: Things were a little slow at work today, so I did something I was determined not to do with this story - I started outlining. From the beginning, this story has flowed from me in a way that none of my stories have - and I've taken my hands off and tried my damnedest to just let it tell itself. But my "control freak" got the better of me today, and I mapped out the next eleven chapters. I'm excited with the direction that I'm headed, and I hope you continue to enjoy it.**

**With that being said, I know you've all been wondering what in the world is going through Dave's head after Courtney dropped the big confession. So here it is. Enjoy!

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Everything inside him was aching, but since Dave no longer had the ability to cry actual tears, he settled for the next best thing – breaking everything he could get his hands on. Pottery was scattered in pieces on the floor of his room, amongst shards of glass and splintered wood. He had overturned the couch, obliterated the kitchen table, and kicked the platform in the center of the room onto it's side.

For the first time in his life, he felt completely betrayed. And it pissed him off.

Growling, he headed for the hallway. Punching every door that he passed, he felt the anger building as he advanced toward Eddie's room.

Pregnant. She had been fucking pregnant. With their child. His child. His wife had terminated the life of his unborn child without so much as a word to him. Throwing the door to Eddie's room open, he hissed, "That bitch killed my kid."

Both Eddie and Trish turned from their conversation on the couch, staring at Dave with a mixture of shock and confusion. They had each seen him angry, but this was beyond rage. This was beyond passion. Unadulterated hatred radiated from his eyes as he slammed the door behind him and punched the wall.

"Hey, man," Eddie stated, standing from the couch. "Clearly, you're not in a good mood. But go break your own shit," he scolded. The look on Dave's face sent him a step backward. "You already broke your own shit," he stated knowingly.

"Dave, what's going on?" Trish asked, her calm, soothing voice blanketing the room with a mild warmth.

Still shaking with fury, Dave forced himself to take a few deep breaths. Though he didn't really need the air, he found that the motion helped his nerves a bit. "Courtney just told that punk-ass Nitro all about how she fucking killed our baby," he spat.

Eddie's mouth dropped open and Trish sank to the sofa, her legs feeling weak. "What?" she whispered.

"Man, you need to have a seat," Eddie started, motioning for his friend to join them on the couch.

Dave sat, mostly because he didn't know what else to do. His body was moving on instinct. He damn sure wasn't in control anymore. "She was pregnant. Right before I died. And she terminated without telling me." His tone was low and even, though Eddie and Trish couldn't really be sure that was a good thing in his present state.

They were all silent for a moment, until Eddie shook his head. "Why would she do that? Courtney loved you, man. You guys used to talk about kids all the time."

"Apparently," Dave started, his voice thick with sarcasm, "I wasn't "daddy" material. I had a "problem." And she couldn't be sure that I would be a good enough father for her blessed offspring." He clenched his fists, the anger fighting to surface once more. "I just wish I could make her feel my pain right now."

"Because you didn't do that enough while you were alive," Trish accused, standing and stuffing her hands into her pockets.

Before she reached the door, Dave was on his feet, fists at his sides. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" When she turned, he narrowed his eyes further. "This is my fault now? She didn't even tell me!"

With a slight shrug, Trish gathered her courage and said what needed to be said. "Dave, you're the first to admit that you didn't treat her the way you should have when you were alive," she started. He shot her a look that said she should mind her own business, but as far as Trish was concerned, he had invited her into the center of all things Courtney when he asked her to help. "I'm sure it wasn't an easy decision. And I'm sure your habit didn't make it any easier," she added.

"I had my vices," Dave started.

But Eddie interrupted. "What you had, Homes, was an addiction. Not a vice, not a demon, not a problem. An addiction." He stood and faced Dave with a look of defiance. "You can't see things her way because you can't admit that your addiction took over your life. As much as you loved your wife, man, and I don't doubt that concept for a second, you loved the powder more."

Hanging his head, Dave sank to the couch again. What good was an argument? They would just gang up on him anyway. And he knew they were right. He did have an addiction – one that had cost him his own life. But it didn't make the news of Courtney's secret any easier to swallow. "She should have told me," he whispered through gritted teeth.

Turning from the door, Trish walked back around to Dave and sat next to him on the couch. "Are you more pissed that she terminated the pregnancy? Or that she didn't tell you about it?" After an awkward silence, she put a hand on his knee. "Or is it that she told Nitro about it?"

Dave's glare was hard when he met Trish's eye. "Are you saying I'm jealous of that motherfucker?" When neither Eddie nor Trish answered, he scoffed and stood again. "I am not jealous! Why the fuck would I be jealous of him? He's a nobody. He wears thrift store clothes and probably smells like the Village." With another laugh, he cracked his knuckles. "He barely has a job."

"Yeah, but he has your wife," Eddie pointed out. When Dave instinctively took a step in his direction, Eddie shrugged his shoulders. "What are you gonna do, Homes? Hit me?" When Dave relaxed his stance, Eddie smiled. "Look, Dave, it's not easy. But if Courtney is willing to open up to this guy, maybe that means he's okay. I mean, if you think about it, it's not so different than when she took a chance on your coked-up, co-dependent ass."

Dave growled again. "That kid is nothing like me," he insisted.

As Trish leaned forward on the couch, her arms resting on her knees and her hands clasped before her, she gazed up at Dave with a penetrating stare. "That's the problem, isn't it?"


	22. Senses Overload

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: Okay, so I have to give credit where it's due - this chapter was heavily inspired by one of my favorite chapters in Vera Roberts's story, Let Love Go. The chapter is called "Stratusfaction Garunteed," if you're familiar with the story. And if you're not, check it out - it's a great story by a truly gifted writer. ****While I haven't ripped it off by any means, I have to admit that it was squarely in my mind when I wrote this. While there is no actual "sexual content" in this chapter, there are references. Enjoy!

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"If it doesn't look like anything, that means it's abstract, right?" Courtney asked as she considered the painting on the easel before her. "It doesn't necessarily mean that it's total bull shit?"

Nitro took a sip of his beer and flipped a quesadilla on the stove as he smiled at the woman in the middle of his studio. The sun had long since set, but the moonlight poured in the windows behind her, and the way it lit her blond hair made her look angelic. The way her nose scrunched as she held the paintbrush and looked back and forth between him and the work before her was adorable. And the way her little halter top hugged her breasts and her baggy sweat pants sat low on her hips, her toned midriff exposed, was more than alluring.

"Art is in the eye of the beholder, Court," he reminded, leaning against the counter to study her once again. "Bull shit is subjective."

"Well, subjectively?" She cast a final look at the painting and then dropped the brush in a cup beside the easel. Hopping down the step and moving toward the kitchen, she shook her head. "I think I might be the worst artist ever," she added with a laugh.

He watched as she sat on a stool at the kitchen table and ran her hands through her messy ponytail. It had been nearly a week since their first heavy conversation in his kitchen, and Courtney had been there for dinner every night since. With Randy out of town, she said she didn't want to be at home alone, and Nitro had been more than willing to offer her a haven.

Shaking his head, he sat a plate in front of her and popped the cap on a beer bottle for her. "You have undeveloped potential," he said, turning back to get his own food.

"Undeveloped? That just means that I got no talent, right?" He smiled when she nodded over her shoulder to one of his pieces hanging on the wall. "I can recognize great art, no problem. But creating it? Wow." She laughed again, catching his eye and blushing.

As they ate, the conversation was simple and relaxed. Since Courtney's confession, they had shared a lot of stories and philosophies that kept them up until the wee hours of the morning. A few days during the week, they had seen the sun come up as they debated a political issue or the latest VH-1 countdown show.

More and more, Courtney found herself craving the comfortable friendship they were cultivating. She missed Randy, missed his warm hands and his deep, rumbling voice. But Nitro helped take the edge off, and she was grateful to have him around. The fact that his body was a sculpted work of art in itself didn't hurt, either.

After dinner, they sat their dishes in the sink and Nitro headed back to the studio. "Ya know what I think the problem is?" he asked as he approached her work.

Courtney had to laugh again. Her painting was really awful. She wasn't afraid to admit it. "That it sucks?" she asked.

"You're trying too hard," he explained, holding out a hand for her to join him.

Stepping back up to the easel, Courtney took the brush from him and rolled her eyes. "I don't think we can save it, Doctor," she whispered sadly, shaking her head.

Standing behind her, Nitro held her hand and the brush, guiding it toward the canvas. "Stop thinking," he whispered in her ear. "Close your eyes." He peered over her shoulder to see that she was following his instructions. Resting his chin on her shoulder, he relaxed his grip on her hand and allowed her to dictate the pace of the brush strokes. "Clear your mind," he instructed.

Courtney felt her breath hitch at his proximity. His skin was warm against hers, his breath hot on her neck. Without even looking at the canvas, she led their hands around in long, deliberate strokes. Her body relaxed against his chest as his free hand rested on her hip. The sexual tension that had been building between them for weeks was beginning to boil over, and they could both feel it.

**RING!**

"Shit," Courtney shrieked as her insistent cell phone cried out, breaking the stillness of the moment. Handing the paintbrush to Nitro, she reached toward the table and picked up the vibrating phone. "Hey, baby," she smiled.

"Hey you," Randy's rich baritone flowed through the phone. "You don't know how good it is to hear your voice right now," he chuckled slightly.

With a sigh, Courtney leaned against the table and dragged her finger over the table, keenly aware of Nitro's presence behind her. She could hear the silent whisper of the brush against the canvas, and she fought the distraction while trying to focus on the man she was supposed to be missing like crazy. "You, too," she responded.

"Did I catch you at a bad time, baby?" Randy asked, a hint of concern in his voice at her tone.

Shaking her head, Courtney closed her eyes and forced herself to concentrate. "No, of course not." Swallowing, she licked her lips and took a deep breath. "So what are you doing?"

He laughed softly. "Well, I was trying to work, but now that I'm hearing your sexy voice," he hinted and Courtney heard him shifting around.

The thought of Randy, stretched out on some hotel bed, thinking about her, made her smile in spite of herself. Before she could ask what he was going to do, she felt a cool moisture on her lower back. Casting a glance over her shoulder, Courtney narrowed her eyes.

Nitro was crouched behind her, paintbrush in hand as he carefully, slowly, worked it over her exposed skin. He looked up, put his finger over his lips, and shook his head. "Don't mind me," he mouthed.

She gave him another warning glare. "Baby?" Randy's voice made her jump. Nitro gave her a look that said to stay still as she sighed and turned back toward the window again.

"I'm here," she whispered as the brush moved over the small of her back gently.

"Are you sure this isn't a bad time, Court?"

Knowing that she wasn't going to be able to talk to Randy while Nitro was playing with her lower back, she turned, staring at the man on the floor with an unamused frown. "I'm sorry, baby. I'm just interviewing some more help tomorrow, so I'm trying to get familiar with these applications," she lied, putting a finger to her lips when Nitro began to make a "tsk, tsk" sound.

"Ah," Randy answered. "Well, I should get some work done, too. But I have some good news."

Nitro stood to his feet and moved closer. "No," Courtney mouthed, swallowing a gasp when he put one hand on her hip and dragged the brush over her smooth stomach. "Really?" she asked Randy, a little louder than she had intended. "What is it?"

"I'm coming home Sunday."

"Randy, that's awesome!" she giggled for good measure, closing her eyes as she absorbed the information. Nitro was now focused on painting what appeared to be a small flower around her navel, and the sensations were making her body temperature soar. But Randy was coming home, safe and excited to see her. That was all she had really been wishing for over the last few weeks, wasn't it?

The man on the other end of the phone smiled. "I know you wanted to go to that EPA fundraiser together on Saturday, baby, but I got the first flight out that I could, and it doesn't leave until Sunday morning."

Shaking her head, she licked her lips as Nitro's fingers held her left hip steady while the brush made swirling motions over her right side. "It's all good, baby," she assured Randy, her head tilting back slightly at the sensations shooting up her body.

"I'll call you later this week with the details, okay?" Courtney moaned a soft response. "Four more days, Court. I can't wait to see you again, baby." She giggled. "Can't wait to show you just how fucking much I've missed you."

She groaned again as Nitro's fingers found the hem of her shirt and pushed it higher up her stomach. His brush was attentive to every inch of exposed skin, and she was loving it. Randy's seductive voice in her ear and Nitro's expert brush strokes on her body were driving her crazy. "It's gonna be great, baby."

There was a low rumble from Randy's end of the phone, and Courtney could nearly see him in her mind's eye, his hand moving down his chiseled chest, heading for the erection her voice was encouraging. When she opened her eyes to find Nitro's gaze fixated on her face, her knees began to shake.

Suddenly, Randy muttered, "Son of a bitch." Courtney shook her head, the moment interrupted. "Baby, I gotta go. Lashley's freakin' out at the door," he explained.

Nitro stood as she said good bye, returning his attention to her painting, as though the last few minutes hadn't even happened. Courtney dropped her phone on the table and considered him for a minute. "Why'd you stop?" she asked.

He smirked and shrugged his shoulders, a slight pink tint creeping up his neck. "Seemed like the mood was broken," he answered honestly, biting his lip as he focused on the canvas before him.

She watched him for another moment, her mind reeling. Randy was coming home in a few days, and that could only mean that her time with Nitro would be severely diminished. He had served his purpose, kept her company while her man was away. On Sunday, her life would return to normal – she would be with Randy, and things would continue as though this week had never happened.

But she didn't want to forget. She didn't want to pretend like it had never happened. Her hands moved of their own accord as she reached behind her neck to untie the strings of her halter top, careful to avoid the paint on her body as she slid it over her head.

Nitro turned, trying his best to remain unaffected as she pushed her pants over her hips and let them pool at her feet. "What are you doing?" he asked as she removed her bra and then stepped out of her panties, standing completely naked in front of him. "Courtney," he began, his voice catching as he studied her in the lighting from the moon outside the large windows of his studio.

She said nothing, only ran her fingers over the damp paint on her midsection, her eyes beckoning him closer.

He cleared his throat and shook his head, his body moving toward her even as his words contradicted his actions. "Your boyfriend will be home in a few days," he reminded.

Courtney nodded and reached out, wrapping a thin hand around the brush in his fingers, pulling him closer. "We need to finish this now, then," she whispered, raising the brush in his hand to her neck and dragging it slowly from the hollow of her throat to the valley of her breasts. "Please, Johnny."


	23. A Work of Art

**Angel Dust**

**Warning: This chapter contains sexual content.**

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_She has a boyfriend. _

_She's still mourning the loss of her husband. _

_She's an emotional wreck. _

_So what if she thinks she can handle this fling. Can you?_

Though the thoughts were assaulting him at a rapid rate, Nitro couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the peaceful look in Courtney's eyes as she guided the paintbrush further down her chest, heading toward her belly.

_It's not like you can say "no" now, motherfucker._

_Come on. Do you even want to say no? Look at her._

His eyes drifted down her naked form to see his hand raising the brush back to her breasts, gently rubbing the bristles across her nipple as it hardened beneath the feather touch. He lifted a hand and smeared the paint, mesmerized by the marks his fingers left in the royal blue color.

Courtney sucked back a deep breath and grasped the table behind her as Nitro repeated the same torturous strokes with her other breast. The coolness of the paint against her skin was causing chills to shoot through her body. And his fingers tenderly kneading and smoothing over her brought a warming sensation to the pit of her stomach. A moan escaped her lips before she could stop it.

Dropping the brush into the cup on the table, he looked at her enraptured face and smiled to himself. "You're beautiful, Courtney," he whispered, his fingers trailing down her arms, leaving blue trails in their wake.

She smiled back and looked into his dark eyes. "Thank you," she whispered.

Nitro extended both arms and trapped Courtney between the table and his body, his heart speeding as he felt her naked chest rising and falling against his tee shirt. Plunging both hands into a pan of red color, he pulled back, allowing the paint to drip from his fingers as he sank to his knees before her.

With expectant eyes, Courtney watched as Nitro's hands hovered over her thighs and then rested on them softly, his fingers dancing down her legs, past her knees, and down to her ankles. Without pausing for a reaction, he dragged his hands back to her heels and then ran them up her calves, brushing over the back of her knees, and then up the backs of her thighs.

Sitting back on his heels, he drank in the sight of her. The alabaster smoothness of her skin was swirled with reds and blues, hot and cold colors. Gently running his flat palms over the curve of her ass, he smiled up into her eyes. As she bit her lip, he continued his caress, moving his hands over her hips as his left hand rested flat against her navel.

She waited, wanting to believe she knew what was coming next, but excited by the prospect that she didn't have a clue. As his right hand hovered over her mound, she leaned back against the table, closing her eyes and holding her breath in rabid anticipation of the contact.

Instead of touching her heated center, Nitro ran both hands up her stomach, cupping both of her breasts in his large hands and giving them a firm squeeze. The gasp that she emitted was a mixture of surprise and pleasure that sounded like music to him. After tweaking her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, he trailed his hands back down to her hips and looked at his hands.

Courtney opened her eyes and smiled down at him, her hand finding the back of his head when he looked up at her again. She felt no need to speak, as their eyes seemed to be doing all the communicating for them.

With a steady hand, Nitro moved his palm to her smooth mound and rested his skin against hers, a deep purple hue left against her. She let out a contented sigh and allowed her legs to relax a bit as he began to caress her skin with a gentle rubbing that was making her instantly hot and wet.

Nitro stood, and Courtney's eyes opened in surprise. He said nothing, only guided her hand to the pan of green paint on the table. As she was hypnotically watching the thick liquid oozing between her fingers, he undressed. When Courtney turned back to him, something indiscernable flickered in her eyes.

His body was truly flawless. The curve of the muscles in his broad shoulders. The hard, inviting lines of his pecs. The perfect definition of his abs. That much she already knew from the pictures he had shown her. But it took everything in her not to stare, drool, and grasp at his hardening erection.

Instead, she stepped close enough to feel her nipples brush his as she lifted herself onto her toes. With her hands on his neck, she began a slow, deliberate trail across his shoulders. Sweeping her fingers over his collarbone, she turned her attention to his pecs, marvelling at the hard muscles jumping slightly as he breathed beneath her touch.

When she dropped to her knees, Nitro thought he might buckle right along with her. As her soft caress moved over his chest and her fingers began to carefully trace each of his abs, he ran his thumb over her cheek, drawing her gaze back to his. Without a word, he moved his free hand to the table behind him and produced another pan of paint.

Courtney licked her lips and submerged her palms into the rich chocolate color before returning her eyes to his face. Slowly rubbing the fronts and backs of his thighs, she could no longer contain her insistent urges. She leaned forward and captured the head of his cock between her lips, her sigh vibrating against his most sensitive skin.

Glad that he had wiped his hands on his tee shirt, Nitro ran a hand through Courtney's hair, pushing it back from her face as she worked her mouth over him, alternating between a gentle licking and a more hungry sucking. The way she was moaning against his shaft as she began to bob her head faster nearly sent him over the edge.

"Courtney." His voice was barely more than a gasping whisper as he pulled her away from his body and knelt in front of her.

Without any further explanation, she laid back on the floor and opened her arms, motioning for him to join her. Nitro hovered over the trembling woman on the floor under him, meeting her lips in their first kiss as her legs circled his waist.

Her hands plunged into his long, blonde locks as he entered her, filling her completely with one thrust. She clung to his mouth, her tongue sliding against his as he moved inside her.

The tightness surrounding him was driving Nitro crazy as he continued speeding and slowing his pace while Courtney writhed, gasped, and whimpered beneath him. The way she whispered "Yes," under her breath repeatedly let him know that he had found her spot, and he was more than happy to oblige when she muttered, "More," under her ragged breath.

Courtney felt her body begin to shake as her climax approached. Arching her back, she screamed and clung to his shoulders when the violent orgasm took her over. It was explosive, numbing, and perfect.

Seeing the smile that stretched across her lips as her chest heaved in the final waves of her orgasm pushed Nitro to the edge. Courtney felt him withdraw from the warm confines of her body, and with a satisfied giggle arched her body toward him again. The sight of her stretched out on his studio floor, completely sated, sent him over the edge as he came on her paint-covered stomach.

The moonlight streaming through the windows reflected the glistening sweat on his shoulders as Nitro collapsed beside Courtney, fighting to regain some sense of composure. She rolled her body and rested her head on his shoulder and moaned happily. "I need a shower."

He smiled and wrapped an arm around her, running his fingers up and down her back. "We need about a gallon of paint thinner," he laughed slightly.

Lowering her gaze, Courtney let her fingers move over the green paint on his abdomen. "What do you know?" she chuckled slightly.

"What?" he asked, smiling down at her when she looked back up.

"I'm not such a bad artist after all," she giggled, her arm resting against him as she hugged him closer.

Without a thought, he kissed the crown of her head. "You're amazing."

The silence that followed his comment was comfortable and Courtney hesitated before breaking it. "Johnny?"

The sound of his actual name rolling off her tongue made his heart jump. "Hm?" he asked as his eyes fought to close.

"There's this EPA fundraiser in Washington Saturday night," she started. When he didn't answer, she swallowed the nerves in her throat. "Will you go with me?"

His body stiffened. "Court, that's not my scene."

She nodded and leaned up to kiss his chin. "I know. But I'm not sure it's mine anymore, either. Maybe we could at least be uncomfortable together."

There was a long pause. It was a bad idea, and they both knew it. But the twinkle in her brown eyes wouldn't let him say no. "Okay."


	24. Black Ties and Body Shots

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: I feel like I have a hundred things to say before this chapter, but I guess it's only a few. First of all, this chapter is dedicated to Katy, who pointed out long ago that Nitro had the perfect abs for body shots. I promised her that Courtney would do one at some point in the story, and this chapter is me delivering on that promise. Enjoy it, Chica!**

**Also, to those of you who are wondering how Dave has been feeling recently, never fear - I haven't forgotten him. He'll let you all know just how much he enjoys the Courtney/Nitro union in the next chapter. And to viper-sa, pat yourself on the back guessing this one before it happened. I hate feeling like my story is predictable, but you were thinking ahead. Gold star!**

**Finally, I have to say "thanks" to everyone who has reviewed this story. It has been a departure, I know, from what most of you are used to reading from me, and the fact that it's my first story to reach 200 reviews had be doing the fucking happy dance. Literally. So to everyone who has helped make this story my most popular to date, at least in terms of reviews, THANK YOU A MILLION FUCKING TIMES! I've said it before, and I'll say it again every chance I get - I have the best fucking readers in the whole fucking world! **

**Enjoy!

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"To the average American, the health of our planet seems secure, I'm sure. But to those of us who spend our days immersed in issues of environmentalism and preservation. . ."

As the spokesperson for the Environmental Protection Agency trudged through her post- dinner thank-you speech, Courtney leaned to her left. "You still awake?" she whispered.

Nitro turned his head slightly, a smile playing on his lips as he continued doodling the outline of a woman on his napkin. "Barely," he responded playfully.

Flashbulbs had been going crazy when they arrived, and Courtney found herself explaining that Randy was still overseas, and that she was accompanied by a friend, more times than she wanted to count. Throughout the evening, she had been careful to keep her hands to herself, smile politely, and make sure that everyone who asked knew that she and Nitro were **just** friends.

Her parents had seemed slightly concerned when their daughter showed up to a public affair on the arm of someone other than her well-publicized boyfriend. But his long hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and the tux he wore seemed legit enough. He seemed cultured enough and was easily able to keep up with their friends in conversations about political platforms. Though Courtney's mother continued to shoot her warning gazes, her father seemed to warm up to the young man fairly quickly.

All in all, the night was going extremely well. Masking her true feelings was a skill she had mastered early in life, and to see that Nitro had the same talent made her smile. She knew he was uncomfortable in the limo, but once they stepped out of the car, he seemed as though he had been raised right alongside Courtney into this world of power and prestige.

But as the woman at the podium droned on, Courtney found her own attention wavering and her eyes beginning to drift. Maybe she'd just had too much wine with dinner, but this party was really boring. More so than usual.

Reaching her hand to Nitro's thigh under the table, she leaned toward him again. "You wanna get outta here for awhile?"

He looked at her curiously. "Can you do that?"

With a smile, she nodded. "Go to the bar, order champagne for the organizing committee," she instructed, just as Dave had taught her a few years earlier. "I'm going to the restroom. After you pay, meet me by the back door," she instructed.

"Can't we just walk out?" When Courtney rolled her eyes, Nitro smiled. "I'm kidding."

Nitro took the folded bills she offered him as payment for the drinks and headed for the bar. Courtney waited until he was placing his order to quietly let her mother know she was heading to the restroom. Within ten minutes, they were sneaking out the back door.

As Courtney gripped his hand and led him around the building to a nearly-deserted backstreet, Nitro laughed. "I feel like we're being all kinds of deviant," he teased.

Rolling her eyes, Courtney looked up and down the street to gather her bearings. Smiling, she tightened her grasp on his hand. "Oh, I'll show you Deviant," she smiled, nodding toward a neon sign boasting the same word. "Come on."

Though dressed in formal attire, Nitro in his tuxedo and Courtney in a knee-length, blush-colored cocktail dress, they folded in with the patrons of Deviant fairly easily. Probably because most of the patrons were already drunk off their asses when the couple pushed through the front door. "I want a Screaming Orgasm. How 'bout you?" Courtney asked, winking at the man who was now holding her hips as they moved toward the bar.

After fifteen minutes of drinking and dancing, Nitro's shirt was untucked and unbuttoned, his hands on Courtney's ass as she grinded hard against him. Though he knew they should be getting back to her party soon, Nitro couldn't bring himself to suggest they head back. Not with Courtney smiling like she was having the time of her life.

It felt like forever since she had sneaked out of a stuffy fund raiser and danced like the twenty-something she was with reckless abandon. She and Dave had done it all of the time, but those days seemed like a lifetime ago now. As Nitro held her hips and moved with the ease of a professional, she shook her hair and allowed herself to return to those days again. She was really, truly, honestly having fun for the first time in a long time.

"We need to get back," Nitro finally reminded, after nearly an hour of dancing, sweating, and drinking.

She knew he was right. But she wasn't ready yet. Not quite. Summoning the bartender, she ordered a tequila shot and found Nitro in the middle of the floor. With a precocious smile, she handed Nitro the shot glass and stuck a lime wedge between his teeth. Raising an eyebrow, she crouched low and held onto the waist band of his pants to keep from falling over.

His shirt was already open, the hard lines of his stomach exposed to her tongue as she dragged it from his belly button and up about four inches. Sprinkling a mound of salt from the shaker in her hand, Coutney looked up at Nitro to find him grinning back and shaking his head. Both were thinking of the last time she had been on her knees in front of him.

Following the same path her tongue had just taken, Courtney rubbed the handful of salt down his sculpted abs and then listened as the crowd cheered for her to do the body shot she had prepared. She took her time in licking every grain of salt from the ridges of his jumping muscles, her eyes dancing with laughter as she held his gaze, daring him to look away.

Nitro couldn't wipe the smile from his lips as Courtney carefully stood to her feet and trailed her fingers up his sides. Before he could process what she was doing, her lips were on his, her teeth sinking into the lime wedge between his teeth and sucking the juice from it with a vigor. She spit the rind onto the floor and took the tequila shot from his hand, throwing her head back as she slammed the liquor down her throat.

The people around them erupted into catcalls and whistles as she winked and wiped a dribbling remain of the alcohol from the side of her mouth. "We better go," she mouthed before he grabbed the back of her head and kissed her hard, tasting the tartness of the tequila on her lips.

As they stepped out of the club, Nitro busied himself with fixing his ponytail while Courtney buttoned his shirt. As he tucked the shirt in and straightened his tie, Courtney smoothed her hands over her dress and fluffed her hair. Though the smell of sweat and cigarette smoke whispered around them, they seemed content with their appearances as the re-entered the back door of the ballroom where the benefit was being held.

The speech long over, Courtney and Nitro were able to easily assimilate back into the room as though they had never been gone. Until Courtney heard her mother's voice. "Dammit," she whispered, turning with the biggest, most genuine-looking smile she could muster.

"Courtney, Sweetheart," Alissa Lane's voice was dripping with saccharine as she approached her daughter with outstretched arms. "I've been looking for you everywhere, Dear. There's someone here who is dying to see you."

Nitro followed at a comfortable distance as Courtney's mother led her by the hand through the crowd. Both mother and daughter smiled and waved at faces they recognized, but Nitro stopped cold when he saw who was waiting for Courtney.

Courtney took a breath and shook her head, a sarcastic response to her mother's enthusiasm on her tongue when Alissa finally stopped dragging her across the room. But all words were gone when she looked up and saw the person who was "dying to see" her.

"Surprise, Baby."

The only person she could think of was the one standing behind her, helplessly watching this all unfold. Her voice was barely a whisper when she met the twinkling, crystal stare of the man before her. "Randy."


	25. Man to Man

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys, as always! You're the coolest. I'm really, really interested in hearing what you all have to say about this chapter! Enjoy!

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Dave watched with a sick sense of sadistic satisfaction as Courtney sat uncomfortably between Randy and Nitro in the back of the limo. She had done a fairly good job of shaking off the initial shock. It took her only a moment to find a bright smile and wrap Randy's broad shoulders in a tight hug. But if there was anyone who knew Courtney, it was Dave. And the signs were all there.

She could pretend all she wanted that she was happy to have her boyfriend back home. But the stiffening of her back every time he touched her was a dead give away. The way she refused to meet his gaze screamed volumes of her true feelings. And the way she kept shooting furtive glances at Nitro said she would rather be back at Deviant, doing body shots and grinding against him.

Watching them fuck was bad enough. But watching them bond was a thousand times worse. No matter how many times he tried to assure himself that she was just lonely, that Randy would come back and make everything better, Dave was starting to lose hope. He was starting to feel the nagging fear that maybe Eddie and Trish were right. Maybe he was going to have to get used to seeing Courtney and Nitro together.

As he tipped a beer bottle to his lips, Dave reclined in his chair and watched with a smug grin as the car slowed to stop in front of Randy and Courtney's brownstone. If there was one thing Orton had learned better than any other lesson Dave had taught him, it was how to make the most of an awkward situation. He knew exactly how to read people, and to turn their discomfort into his own advantage. He might have to get used to Courtney and Nitro eventually, but for now, he would watch Orton make them squirm. And he would love it.

"Make me proud, Orton," he chuckled to himself, taking another drink as Courtney waited for Randy to get out of the car.

"Why don't you go on inside, Baby," Randy smiled, stepping out of the car and extending a hand to Courtney. When she shot Nitro a wary look, Randy shook his head. "Don't worry, Court. I'll make sure our friend Nitro gets home safely."

Courtney mouthed 'I'm sorry' to Nitro and then slid out of the limo, as though she had no other choice. Her eyes said that she wanted nothing more than to tell Orton where to stick it, but she got out of the vehicle without another word. "Be nice," she whispered to Randy as she stepped onto the sidewalk.

With a look of mock innocence, Randy kissed Courtney's cheek. "No worries, baby," he assured her with a hand on her back. "Any friend of yours is a friend of mine."

She shook her head sadly, walking slowly to the front door of their house like a scolded child. For a moment, Dave's heart went out to her. Then he remembered last night. The look on her face. The sound of her voice. The way her back arched off of Nitro's bed as the punk-ass hippie licked whipped cream off Courtney's naked body.

Focusing his attention on Randy, Dave watched the scene on the platform change from a sad-looking Courtney, to the action inside the limousine. Nitro was staring out the window, clearly uninterested in anything this man beside him had to say. Randy was smiling, undeterred by the apathy of the man beside him.

"I wanted to thank you, man," Randy started, his hands resting comfortably on his thighs as he looked straight ahead. Nitro didn't respond. "I mean, I was worried about leaving my girl alone in the city while I was all the way across the ocean. And, as it turns out, I had nothing to worry about," he added, cracking his knuckles subtly. "She's lucky to have such an attentive friend to make sure nothing happened to her while her man was away."

Dave watched with delight as the red color crept into Nitro's neck. His face registered slight shock when the young man turned, his face angry.

"Why don't you get to the fucking point, Orton?" he spat.

"Oh," Dave whistled. "Looks like we've got a live one!"

"Okay." In an instant, Randy's expression morphed from one of jovial amusement to a threatening glower. "Whatever you and Courtney did while I was away? It's over," he stated.

"That's not your decision, is it?" Nitro asked, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

Turning his body, Randy lowered his voice further. "Maybe not, but I know my girlfriend. She's traditional, man. She wants a man who takes control of the relationship," he smirked when Nitro shifted in his seat. With a hand over the balled fist Nitro was beginning to raise, Randy pushed it back to the seat between them.

Laughing, Dave watched as Nitro shook his head in confusion. "That's right, motherfucker. You can't win this one. Tuck your tail and run along now," he encouraged as he watched the car slow to a stop in front of Nitro's apartment building.

"This is so fucked up," Nitro laughed incredulously, as though he couldn't believe he was having the conversation in the first place. "Courtney is her own person. She is a brilliant woman. And she wants to be able to think for herself."

Randy shook his head. "Don't pretend like one week of fucking her makes you a Courtney Lane expert," he warned. "What Courtney wants, my friend, is someone who fits in her world. Maybe she told you that she wants something else. Maybe she even thinks she does want you. Maybe she thinks she wants someone that makes her parents cringe, someone who looks painfully out of place at gala events."

Nitro shifted under Randy's condescending gaze. "This is so fucked up," he repeated. "If you loved her. . ." he started.

But Randy shook his head and nodded to the door. "Don't you dare question my love for my girlfriend. She is the single most important thing in the world to me. And don't think I'm not willing to fight, tooth-and-nail, to keep her."

Even Dave flinched a little bit at the look on Randy's face. Stone-cold hatred radiated toward the young man in the car. But he had to admit, he was slightly impressed at the fact that Nitro's expression reflected absolutely no fear.

Nitro smiled for the first time as he looked Randy over. They were about the same height, and their builds were similar. On top of that, Nitro was willing to bet that he had far more street experience with fighting than this white-collar television producer had ever seen. He wondered for a moment if Randy had ever seen a fight anywhere other than in movies or television. "What makes you think that prospect of fighting you scares me in the least, man?"

Unaffected, Randy answered with a cordial tone, as though he was wishing Nitro a good evening. "Trust me, Kid," he smirked slightly. "You have no idea what I'm capable of."

When the limo door slammed, Randy sank back in the seat smugly. Drumming a happy beat on his knee with one hand, he quickly dialed his phone. "Hey, baby," he said when Courtney answered. "No, he's fine. We had a nice chat. . . I didn't threaten him. . . No. . . Baby, it's our first night together in three weeks. Can we not fight tonight?"

Draining what was left of his beer, Dave stood and stretched. Moving close to the platform, he shifted his attention to Courtney as she lounged in the bathtub, her tan legs poking out of the bubbles, an irritated look on her face. Rolling his eyes, he started to pat her exposed knee, intent on telling her to lighten up and get over it.

But when he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out. Joey's words from his first day on the other side flooded his mind. _When they forget the sound of your voice, you won't be able to talk to them._


	26. Not Again

**Angel Dust

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**

He had heard her scream so many times when Dave was alive. Randy could remember sitting in the living room, pretending to go over interview notes, while his mentor fucked his wife in the kitchen or down the hall. He could remember shifting in his seat, wishing to hell that he wasn't so turned on every time she reached a frenzied pitch with her screams. The way the curse words would flow over her otherwise-reserved lips made him crazy, and often he had gone home to masturbate to thoughts of this woman.

And now he was the one making her come. He was the one giving it to her hard, making her beg for more. It wasn't a fantasy anymore. Courtney Lane was his. And he would be damned if he was going to let anyone else sample his goods. If he had to fuck the thought of Nitro out of her mind, he would do it. And he wouldn't complain.

"Damn," Courtney sighed as Randy laid beside her in the afterglow of their latest fuck session.

"Yeah," he agreed, rolling his head to smile at her. "You are amazing."

She blushed and nodded, kissing his cheek before rolling out of the bed. "I need a shower."

* * *

By the time Courtney got out of the shower, Randy was sound asleep. Covered with a thin sheet, his face peaceful and his arms stretched above his head, she had to admit that he was pretty damn perfect. So why wasn't she smiling? 

He had sent her flowers at work, taken her to a five-star restaurant, treated her to a matinee performance of Wicked, and personally cleaned the bathrooms and kitchen in the house as a surprise to her. Though he had been the near-perfect boyfriend before he left for Afghanistan, he seemed to be working toward extra credit since returning.

And the sex. Damn.

She dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, feeling a sudden, overwhelming urge to get some air. Randy had doted her with more attention that she knew what to do with since his return. But the one thing he hadn't given her was a second alone.

Too much had happened. Too much of a connection had been established with Nitro. Even if she tried to pretend she was just using him as a replacement for Randy, she couldn't deny that she missed him now that she wasn't spending every night at his apartment. They had become something more than friends, and she wasn't sure how she was supposed to just turn that attraction off and get back to her life now.

She stepped into the street, closing her eyes to revel in the feeling of the midnight breeze on her face. Her thighs were soar, her body exhausted. But her mind was racing and she knew sleep would not come until she had resolved some of the issues racing through her head.

Nearly a half hour later, she found herself in front of Ronzio. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

Nitro looked up from his seat on the sidewalk, an uncertain expression on his innocent face. "I'm not sure." Standing with a grunt, he wiped the back of his pants and stuffed both hands in his pockets. "You ever get that feeling like you have to be somewhere. And even though you don't know why, you just have to go?"

She nodded and unlocked the front door, waiting for him to enter the shop before she shut the door and locked it behind them.

Moonlight bathed the room in a soft glow as Courtney hoisted herself onto the counter, making no attempt to turn any of the overhead lights on. She twisted her hands in front of her as Nitro lowered himself to a stool and pulled his wallet out of his pocket.

"Look, Nitro," Courtney started, "I don't know what Randy said to you the other day, but I don't want us to stop being friends just because he's back."

Withdrawing a photo from the wallet, he laid it beside Courtney and tapped it with a finger. "Melina," was all he said.

Courtney lifted the picture and took in the image. Nitro stood with his arms around a petite Latino woman, both smiling brightly, their dark eyes twinkling. She wasn't sure she had ever seen Nitro look so happy. "She's beautiful," Courtney responded for lack of anything more intelligent to say.

"We met in college. This instant attraction that I still can't expain. It was like we just knew." He stopped and shook his head. "My first love. Took me all of three months to propose."

She wanted to ask a million questions, but none of them seemed appropriate at the moment. Instead, she continued studying the happy-looking couple in the photo. It reminded her of a photo her mother had taken in the Hamptons. It was one of her favorites, the one where Dave looked like something out of a Hilfiger ad, happily embracing Courtney on the deck of her father's boat.

"Two months before the wedding, she bailed." Nitro brought Courtney's thoughts back to him. "Met another dude. A doctor. From Puerto Rico," he chuckled slightly, blinking an unexpected tear. "Said she wasn't sure how it had happened, just that she knew it was right. He made her happy." His eyes focused on a stack of Styrofoam cups behind the counter.

Courtney silently slid the photo back to him and placed a hand over his on the counter. "I'm sorry, Johnny," she whispered, squeezing his hand slightly. It was the first time he had shared anything painful about his life with her, though she had unburdened her soul to him several times.

But he pulled his hand back and shook his head. "Can you just imagine how happy her family was? Their baby girl marrying a doctor from the mother country? Instead of this white trash artist from the Village?" He shook his head and met Courtney's eye for the first time. "I'm not doing it again."

The sincerity of his gaze sent a chill up her spine. "What are you talking about?"

With a chuckle, he stood from his seat and pushed his wallet back into his pocket. "I know your family wants you with Randy. Hell, I'm sure Dave would probably want you with Randy, too," he acknowledged, crossing his arms over his chest. "But I'll be honest with you, Courtney. I don't fucking care what they want." Turning, he started for the door. With a hand on the knob, he looked back over his shoulder. "Until you feel the same way, I can't do this anymore."

She watched him leave, a lump in her throat as she pulled her knees to her chest. Even as she tried to rationalize, she had to admit that everything he had said was true. No matter how much she denied it, her parents' opinions of her life was important to her. More important than her own happiness.

Locking the door behind herself, Courtney started for home again. For as long as she could remember, she had allowed her parents, her husband, her colleagues, and society to dictate what she was supposed to need, want, and be. Her need to please them, to make them proud, had driven her every decision for more than twenty years.

As she let herself back into the apartment, she made a horrifying realization. She had no idea what she really wanted for herself.


	27. What Courtney Really Wants

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews! Enjoy!

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**

As if Courtney didn't have enough on her mind lately, several local and national write-ups, as well as an endorsement on Oprah's Favorite Things show, had put Ronzio Dello Zucchero on the top of every trend-seekers list for coffee and pastries. Not that Courtney minded the influx in business - the money was great, and the bonuses she was able to extend to her employees were something she had been hoping for since opening the shop nine months ago.

But the traffic through the shop was causing the already-frantic Courtney to nearly lose her mind. In an attempt to calm her nerves, Dave had asked Trish to stop by the shop and talk to his wife. If there was anyone who seemed to bring a smile to Courtney's beautiful face in the midst of her crazy life, it was Trish.

Pushing through the door of the shop, Trish braced herself against the noise and headed for the counter. "Need some help?" she asked.

Courtney's face was flushed, but her eyes widened when she saw her friend. Motioning to one of the young men behind the counter, she nodded at the customer in front of her and then put her hands on Trish's thin shoulders. "Where have you been? I have been dying to talk to you."

Trish giggled slightly as Courtney pushed into the back room and ran a hand through her hair. "Where's the fire there, Smokey?" she asked as Courtney paced nervously.

"Nitro broke up with me," Courtney stated.

"You were dating Nitro?" Trish feigned ignorance, as she hadn't really talked to Courtney since the whole "Nitro" situation had begun to develop. Not in a "girl talk" kind of way.

"No," Courtney shook her head.

Trish was confused. "But he broke up with you?"

"Yes."

"But you weren't dating him?"

"Not really."

Taking a moment to wrap her head around the conversation, Trish shook her head and blinked. "Are you still with Randy?"

Courtney rolled her eyes. "Of course I am, Trish." As Trish nodded in relief, mostly because she knew Dave wouldn't kill her all over again if Courtney and Randy weren't still together, Courtney added, "Kind of."

"Huh?"

With a sigh, Courtney ran her hands through her hair again and sat on a packing crate. "Nitro and I kind of started seeing each other while Randy was overseas. It wasn't anything serious at first, just hanging out, but then we started connected. Like, deeply. And I know there's no future there, but there's this connection, ya know?

"And then there's Randy. And he's my boyfriend. And he's great. Sure, we don't have the same emotional connection, but he's so good to me. He's great. We have fun together. There is nothing wrong with Randy. I'm sure that, if I was willing to open up to him, we could establish that connection and everything would be beautiful and perfect and amazing and -"

She was cut off by Trish's fingers on her lips. "Whoah there, Chatty Cathy." With a slight chuckle, Trish nodded and pulled her hand back. "Take a deep breath. Chill for a second." Courtney inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. "Okay. So what's the real problem here?"

Courtney watched her friend lean against a baker's rack. "I don't know who I want to be with," she said honestly.

Narrowing her eyes, Trish considered the young woman. "Are you sure?" In her experience, everyone who said they didn't know always had some inclination.

With an unappreciative glare, Courtney crossed her arms. "Stop playing head games with me, Stratus," she warned. "I don't know, or I would tell you."

Shaking her head, Trish thought about the situation. "Court, listen to your heart. It will tell you what you want."

It was the kind of line that always drove her point home, always got her subject to think and smile and go about their merry way. Sure, it was cliche. But it was also exactly what they needed - someone to tell them that the answer had been in front of their face the whole time.

Except Courtney wasn't like everyone she had ever helped. And that's why Trish liked her. So when her shoulders sagged and she looked up with sad eyes, Trish couldn't help but feel her non-beating heart skip.

"You don't get it," Courtney explained. "Even if I wanted to listen to my heart, whatever the fuck that means, I wouldn't know what it was telling me. It's been so long since I heard it, since I listened, I wouldn't even recognize the voice," she whispered.

She spoke metaphorically, but Trish could see the pain and the confusion behind Courtney's eyes. It was the pain of a young woman who really didn't know what she wanted, who hadn't been allowed to figure that out for herself. "Court," she whispered, kneeling in front of her friend. "I don't think the real problem is choosing which guy you want to be with."

"No, that's the real problem, Trish. Do I want sexy, beautiful Nitro with his understanding, listening ear and his gentle, artistic way of doing every damn thing? Or do I want sexy-as-fuck Randy with his over-the-top romantic gestures and his spontaneity?"

Trish just shook her head and moved closer to Courtney. "Let me tell you what I think the real problem is," she said softly. Courtney nodded. "I think the real problem is not that you want to choose either of them. I think the reason you're freaking out is that life keeps going, moving forward, dragging you with it. You're ready to move on, and you feel guilty for leaving Dave behind."

Tears spilled over her cheeks as she shook her head and tried to contain the emotion. Either she was losing her touch, or Nitro and Trish were better than she had anticipated. With them, she found herself breaking down a lot more often. The walls were starting to crumble with her new friends, and if she was honest, Courtney knew exactly why that was.

They didn't care about her parents. They didn't care about her husband, or her boyfriend. Status didn't impress them. Paparrazzi and fame were more of an annoyance than a draw. They didn't care about political platforms and foreign policy. Trish and Nitro cared about Courtney, the scared little kid from Vermont who just wanted to make some friends and have some fun.

"Courtney, what do you really want?" Her voice was smooth and reassuring, like that of a mother addressing her young child.

With a sigh, Courtney grasped Trish's hand. "He used to wake up before me all the time. Sometimes he wouldn't go to bed until hours after I did, but he always managed to wake up first. And when I would open my eyes, he would be leaning on his elbow, staring at me with this mischevious, little adolescent grin and this twinkle in his eye that just melted me.

"I remember that it was there. But I can't, for the life of me, remember what it looks like. I remember that his voice was this low, rumbling, sex and whiskey kind of sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chest. But I try and I try, and I can't hear it anymore.

"His touch used to send shivers up my spine, Trish. Even if he was just putting his hand on my back for a photo op. And I laid awake for hours last night, and I just can't feel it anymore." She sobbed and shook her head. "I feel like I'm betraying him. I don't want to forget."

Trish felt her insides crumbling as she held Courtney and rocked her slightly. She knew that she was holding the cards. Anything she said would sway Courtney's emotional state in any direction Trish wanted it to go. It was a power that she often felt was more of a curse than a blessing. But none so much as this moment.

"Sweetheart," Trish whispered, pulling back and pushing Courtney's hair behind her ears. "You spent a year in Italy after Dave died, right?" Courtney nodded. "Did you actually resolve anything? Or just spend your time grieving him and missing him?" When Courtney sniffled and shook her head, Trish went on. "You have shit to work out that has nothing to do with Nitro or Randy. Maybe you should take a little time away from them to do that."

Courtney's lip quivered as she considered Trish's words. It had been nearly two years since Dave's death. Didn't taking some time for herself just mean she was dwelling on something that she thought she was already getting over? Wouldn't it set her back to continue focusing on Dave? She didn't want to forget, but at some point, wasn't she supposed to? At least, in part.

Sensing her inner turmoil, Trish stood and sighed. "I'm not saying a long time," she responded. "I mean, maybe a week, or just a weekend. Just some time to focus on what's really going on - some time to confront the real issues you're facing, without heaping on a big helping other distractions. Maybe at the villa? Or somewhere else you feel safe and comfortable?"

It was as if a lightbulb went on in Courtney's head. "Trish, you're a genius!" But before the smaller blonde could congratulate herself on a job well-done, Courtney stood and shed her apron. "Can you look after the shop for me for a couple of days?"

"Sure, Sweetie. Of course."

With a hug, Courtney grabbed her purse. "Thanks. I'll call you as soon as I get back from Vermont."

Trish sank to the crate that had previously been Courtney's seat and shook her head. Though she was sure it was for the best, she knew she had just stepped in it with both feet. What she had just done could be considered an abomination to all of the rules she was operating under. She could lose her position as an angel.

Even knowing that things were about to get a lot more complicated, Trish couldn't help but smile. This is what she had wanted from the beginning. Sure, there would be an explosion - mostly in the form of Dave's temper tantrums - but once the dust settled, she was sure that everyone would be able to live happily ever after.


	28. An Old Friend

For a brief moment, when Trish suggested she get away, Courtney had considered going back to Italy. The villa was nice, and for a year it had been her home. She had also briefly thought about going back to DC. A spa day with her mom and a few drinks her favorite old haunts would be good for her, as well.

But when she really thought about the most tranquil, happy place she had ever lived, there was the only choice. Born and raised a child of New England, Courtney had spent most of her adolescent and teen years at Vermont's St. Johnsbury Academy. It was a beautiful prep school, set against hundreds of acres of history. Every building, from housing to classrooms, had been renovated from former churches or houses, and the atmosphere was always cozy, to say the least.

As Courtney walked past academic halls and dormitories, she tucked her hands into the pockets of her denim jacket and breathed in the fresh air she had so desparately missed. Being here, experiencing it all again, she wondered where this Courtney had gone - the one who had worn a path between the library in Severance Hall and her home at the Sheepcote Dormitory.

As she lowered herself onto the hill over-looking Fairbanks Field, Courtney said a prayer of thanks to whomever had made sure the campus was peaceful and still for her visit. Saturdays were normally as busy, if not more, on campus because of sporting events and academic competitions. But so far, the only people she had seen were a group of young women in full uniform, giggling as they made their way toward the student center.

The sky was as blue as she remembered it. The sun was shining, though a slight chill whispered at her neck as she tightened her ponytail and hugged her knees to her chest. The small group she had seen assembled on the field when she drove up was now nowhere to be found, and she was grateful, once again, for the silence of the moment.

"Well, slap my ass and call me Spanky. The rumors are true." He lowered himself onto the ground beside Courtney, his shoulder brushing hers in leiu of a handshake. "How you doin', Court?"

Turning slightly, Courtney blushed and pushed a stray hair behind her ear. "John Cena," she smiled warmly, resting her head on his shoulder briefly and then lowering her eyes.

_"Are you fucking kidding me? You know JOHN CENA?" Dave's eyes were the size of saucers._

_Courtney laughed and brought her espresso to her lips as Dave reclined beside her, watching a pre-season football game. "Yes, I know John Cena," she admitted. "We graduated from St. Johns together."_

_"Can you get me an autograph?" Dave asked, his expression lit up like a Christmas tree. "Or, do you still talk to him?"_

_Not sure whether he would burst out in a fit of jealous rage, or be impressed, Courtney downplayed her friendship with the previous year's Super Bowl MVP. "Um, I might have his number somewhere," she smiled._

_"Call him up. Tell him we're going to take him to dinner," Dave ordered, his eyes saying he was anything but joking._

She had called, as she had been told, and they had partied with John and his girlfriend-of-the-moment on several occasions. But she hadn't seen him since months before Dave's death. Still, his presence, in this place, felt like the most natural thing in the world.

"You look amazing," John complimented.

Licking her lips, Courtney gazed up into his eyes. He had always been the best looking guy in their class - and the fact that his face was on billboards and television commercials all the time now was no shock to her. "You're not lookin' so bad yourself there, Champ," she winked, her eyes drifting to his right hand, resting comfortably on his knee. "Maybe it's the glow of that ring."

He smiled and tilted his Super Bowl ring toward her before shrugging. "Could be the bling," he nodded, laughing at the sound of the word passing over his lips. "You still wear yours," he commented.

Courtney looked at her left hand. She didn't wear it much anymore, her wedding band. Randy preferred that she didn't, and after nearly two years, it felt like time to take it off. But for this trip, she felt as though she needed it. "Yeah," she nodded, unsure if any other explanation was needed.

His voice was low, comforting, soothing. "How you doin', Court?" he asked, brushing her shoulder with his again. "I been meaning to call you for awhile now."

Interrupting him, Courtney shook her head. "Don't worry about it. To be honest, things are pretty crazy."

He chuckled and leaned back, balancing himself on his elbows as he looked over the field that had first made him a star. "Been hearing a lot about you and Orton lately."

Nodding, Courtney hugged her knees close again. If anyone knew Randy, it was John. He had seen the young man chase Courtney all over St. Johnsbury for four years, trying his damndest to get her attention, always falling slightly short. "He's a good guy," she assured him.

"Who knew?" John laughed slightly, pushing up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. "Who would have ever guessed, way back in high school, that Mr. Junior Democrat would actually capture the heart of the future Senate Majority Leader." Shaking his head, he cleared his throat. "Of course, I guess that does make sense, doesn't it?"

She smiled slightly.

_"I can't believe you're married to my boss," Randy smiled, a glass of champagne dangling between his fingers as Dave headed down the hall to change his clothes._

_  
Courtney watched her husband leave the room and shook her head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Look, Randy, I don't think it matters if we tell Dave we went to high school together," she started nervously. "But if you value your job? Please don't tell him about anything else."_

_Randy considered her for a moment. "So I should keep my mouth shut about the insane crush I used to have on you?" he asked with a confident smirk. Courtney blushed and Randy shook his head. "Don't worry about it, Court. I've grown up a lot since then. I barely remember it myself."_

_He had grown up - in the five years since Courtney had last seen Randy, he had gone from dorky politician wannabe, to super-hot television powerhouse-in-training. She was impressed. But she was fairly certain Dave would not be. _

"I don't know," Courtney shook her head to rid herself of the memory. "I mean, things are all so complicated now. Back in high school, they were so much easier."

John nodded and cast another glance to the ring on his finger. "Yeah, but I can't really complain. Things are pretty good now, too."

Shrugging, she kept her eyes trained on the ground. "I guess."

"Come on," John offered a hand as he stood to his feet. "I'll buy you some dinner."

Courtney cringed slightly and hesitated as she considered the offer. "I don't know, John. I think I've got enough male drama in my life right now."

But his trademark laugh filtered through the air and carried on the wind. "I didn't ask you take off your pants, Courtney. Just two old friends, having dinner and catching up."

"Right," she forced a smile and stood, a slight tingle shooting up her arm as she took his hand. "Of course."


	29. You Know What You Want

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: A lot of complications with this site, as well as a slight case of writer's block, or writer's apathy, have discouraged me from posting new chapters as of late. But I'm over that now, and I think I'm going to have some exciting chapters for you very soon. Expect explosive revelations in the next few installments, kids. Review, and as always, Enjoy!

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**

"Are you going to say something? Or just sit there and stare at your plate like a deaf mute?" Courtney asked as she finished off her glass of wine.

John's infectious grin spread over his face as he pushed a stray piece of asparagus around his plate and then raised his gaze to hers. The twinkle in his blue eyes immediately took her back to the days of pep rallys and homecoming dances. So much had changed for both of them, their lives had definitely taken different courses. But the bond that they had developed in this tiny Vermont town was still there, still connecting them, even if only by a thin strand.

"How am I supposed to react? Should I be surprised?" he asked with a shrug, dropping his fork onto the plate with a slight clatter. "Courtney, every guy at St. Johns loved you," he reminded her. "Shy little Courtney, with your shiney hair and your perfect smile. And your perfect body." The wink he shot her was affectionate and full of admiration. "Am I supposed to be shocked that more than one guy wants your attention now?"

She rolled her eyes and leaned forward, her elbows on the table as she clasped her hands in front of her. "You're supposed to tell me what to do," she said playfully.

This time, John laughed. It was a soft chuckle that hung in the air between them as he leaned forward and motioned for her to take his hand. His warm fingers covered hers as he held her gaze with a soft sincerity. "Even if you had a history of listening to a damn thing I told you to do, Courtney, it's not my place. Not this time." She began to protest. "You are twenty-seven years old. Almost twenty-eight, if I remember correctly. Don't you think it's time for you to make a decision for yourself?"

"That's what everyone keeps telling me," she huffed, resting her chin against the palm of her free hand. "I just want to know that I'm making the right one," she stated, pulling her hand away from his.

Leaning back in his chair, John spoke softly, but with authority, just as he always had. "And if you make the wrong choice?" She bit her lip, tears building in her eyes. "For as long as I've known you, Court, you have been the consummate politician. You know all the right words to say - you can motivate a room full of people to do things they never thought possible.

"Remember senior year, when I was getting ready to play in the East/West game? The one that's televised? For the entire world to see?" Courtney's lips tweaked into a small smile at the recollection. "And I was so nervous, I threw up for three days before the game? I wanted to stay home, remember? I was already comitted to Princeton. I didn't need the exposure. I just wanted to stay home.

"Do you remember what you told me?" He watched as more tears formed in her eyes. "I do. I remember it every day. Every time I step onto a football field. Every time I do an interview. Every time I shoot a commercial. Every fucking time that fear bubbles up in my throat, I think about what you told me that night on the phone."

For a long moment they sat in silence. Courtney watched her wine glass, waiting for him to go on. When he didn't, she realized he was waiting for her to say the words. She knew exactly what he was referring to, and saying them to him had been easy back then. But telling herself now was not so simple. Believing it was next to impossible.

Clearing her throat, she whispered, "If you don't play, then no one can see you miss a tackle, and give the other team the game-winning score. But they also can't see you own the field, sack the quarter back, cause an interception, or score a game-winning touchdown on a Sanders-esque turnover, either."

"You want my opinion?" She sat perfectly still, staring at her empty wine glass as he spoke. "You are the single most generous person I know, Court. You love people, genuinely love them. And if there's one thing I know about you, it's that you never want to hurt anyone, or make them angry. You just want the people in your life to be happy. Even if their happiness means you have to sacrifice your own.

"You know what you want, Courtney," he stated, tapping on the table with his index finger. "I have no doubt that you could tell me exactly who you want to be with, and what you want to do with your life." He removed his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and tossed a bill on the table. "You might hurt somebody's feelings. You might piss somebody off. Mommy and Daddy might not understand your choices. But if you're not lookin' out for your best interests, who is?"

Courtney stood and took her jacket from the back of her chair, falling into step with John as they left the restaurant. Stepping onto the sidewalk outside the tiny restaurant, she hooked her arm through his and moved closer to his massive shoulder to fight off the chill. "Ya know what I think, Cena?" she asked with a smile.

Looking down at her, John's eyes lit up as he smiled again and nudged her slightly. "What do you think, Lane?"

"I think breaking up with you was maybe one of the worst decisions I ever made."

John agreed. "I think you're right," he smiled. "Of course, if you hadn't broken up with me, you would have never met, dated, and married the love of your life," he reminded her.

Courtney nodded as they continued to walk back toward her car. Tilting her head, she considered him for a moment as they stopped under a street lamp. "Maybe we should try it again."

He raised an eyebrow and rested his hands on her hips. "What happened to "enough male drama," Court?" he asked playfully.

She smiled and rested her head against his chest. "I have drama back in New York. You?" she looked back up into his eyes. "You were never drama. That's why I loved you."

Rubbing his hands over her shoulders, he shook his head. "Drama is caused by passion, baby. Without it, you just have a friendship."

"You sayin' we didn't have passion?"

For a moment, his expression seemed to change as his mind drifted over the course of their four-year relationship. "Um, no," he admitted, remembering a few specific moments clearly. "I'm saying nothing has changed since you broke up with me six years ago," he corrected. "We're still on totally different paths in our lives. We want different things, and we have different goals."

"I am not the same person I was back then," she insisted, wrapping her arm around his waist and resting her index finger through his back belt loop. "I have changed a lot."

With a large hand on the curve of her hip, John allowed his laughter to echo through the night sky. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Depends," Courtney countered. "Are you thinking about the last time I said those words to you?" John nodded. "That night was like magic," she smiled.

They continued reminiscing until they reached Courtney's car. "I believe it's time for you to go home and do what's best for you, Courtney Elizabeth Lane-Batista," John grinned widely, dropping a kiss on her forehead. "Call me if you feel like jumping off a ledge, okay?"

She nodded and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Thank you," she whispered.

As she pulled away from her first love, she cast a glance at her hands on the steering wheel and thought about her second. She never wanted to forget Dave, never wanted to put him out of her mind. He had been so important in making her who she was, and she had loved him with an all-consuming, passionate kind of love.

She could mourn his death, light some candles, and cling to his memory every day for the rest of her life. But it wouldn't bring him back. For the first time since his death, she knew. It was time. She was ready to move on.


	30. Another Bomb Dropped

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: As you might have noticed, I've really cooled off on the double-updating with this story. Today, though, the story is assaulting me and I'm on a roll. I'm not promising that it will happen often, but for some reason, the inspiration is really flowing right now. I hope that you all Enjoy!

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Dave was a man used to feeling like he was in control. He was used to powering through every moment, every situation. He liked being the only one who knew, with absolute certainty, what was going to happen next. And Courtney was taking that away from him, and fast. It felt as though the ground were slipping out from under his feet as he sat in his room, listening to her confession about her abortion, watching her fuck Nitro, enduring her little jaunt to Vermont to clear her head.

As time wore on, he began to wonder if he had ever really known Courtney at all. She was sharing secrets with Nitro and Trish, sometimes with Randy, that she had never felt comfortable enough to share with him. And now he found out that she and John Cena hadn't just been friends in high school, but that they had dated? Dave knew his wife, and that wasn't the kind of information she just forgot. She had intentionally kept it from him.

He wished he could just throw the door of Trish's room open and growl like the intimidating beast who had once made powerful political figures bow to his every whim. But that wasn't allowed here - there was no entrance into a living space other than your own without express permission from the owner. So he settled for pounding on the heavy door with authority. Far less intimidating, but effective, nonetheless.

The door opened after only a moment, and he lowered his hand, somewhat disappointed that he hadn't gotten the chance to rattle it from its hinges. "Come in, David," Trish invited softly.

Dave entered the room, jarred by the sparseness of it all. Though he had no reason to assume, he had always figured that Trish's room would be one of oppulent warmth, something fit for a queen. Instead, it was a small, studio apartment with bare brick walls and battered furniture, circa 1970.

The couch on which Eddie and Trish were seated was brown, with swirling pink flowers. "Hey, man," Eddie welcomed with a smile as Dave lowered himself into a beat-up leather recliner. "What's goin' on, David?"

The frown on his face told Eddie that his friend was not there for a social visit. Not that Dave ever left his constant watch on Courtney for anything less than a "dire" emergency. When the larger man didn't respond, it felt as though the temperature of the air around them dropped by ten degrees.

"Maybe I should just go," Eddie offered, nearly choking on the obvious tension in the room.

Staring at the platform in the center of Trish's room, Dave's mind began to churn. He had tried to convince himself that he was wrong. Surely she wouldn't deviate from the plan. There was no way that Trish had any reason to steer Courtney away from the original agenda. Courtney always used to laugh him off and say he was paranoid. Maybe she was right.

But as he turned his attention to the couple on her platform, his suspicions were confirmed. Trish was watching John and Courtney, sitting at the restaurant, laughing over an expensive dinner. Something wasn't right.

"What the hell is going on, Trish?" he demanded finally.

"Hey, man," Eddie held a hand up at Dave's angry tone. "Chill, alright?" He looked at Trish and then back at Dave. "Just because your wife is having a conversation with an old boyfriend does not give you the right to yell at Trish."

But Dave ignored Eddie and stared harder at the tiny blonde woman on the far end of the couch. Her eyes were fixed on the screen as she clutched a water glass in her thin hands. "You know something," he insisted, standing and moving to the platform, standing between it and the woman who seemed to be ignoring him. "Something's been bothering me since you sent Courtney to Vermont, and I want to know what the fuck you're trying to pull."

Eddie fell uncharacteristically silent as he sat back on the couch. Part of him said that he should leave these two to their business. But the overwhelming, chivalrous need to protect Trish kept him pinned to his seat. "She suggested Courtney get away. She didn't send her to Vermont specifically, man," Eddie reminded.

"You told her to go someplace she felt safe and happy," Dave accused, hands on his hips as if to tell her he meant business. "You think I don't remember the night she told you Vermont was her happy place, the one place she always thought of when she needed peace and tranquility?" He scoffed. "I remember everything she tells you. You knew exactly what you were doing when you sent her away."

Turning back, he pointed to the screen. The pieces of information began to fall into place as kept his eyes on the image of his smiling wife while speaking to the silent woman behind him. "These platforms are set up for the express purpose of allowing the dead to watch their living loved ones. But you didn't know Courtney before you died, or you wouldn't be able to appear to her now," he reasoned his suspicions as he spoke.

Trish watched with no expression as Dave turned back and put his hands on his hips. Though he said nothing else, it was clear that he was waiting for an answer. "I sent Courtney to Vermont because I knew John was going to be there," she answered.

"Cena? That's your living loved one? You loved John?" Dave laughed as though it was the most absurd thing he had ever heard. "What? Were you one of his gold-digging groupies? One of his throngs of adoring fans?" He had partied with John for awhile, long enough to know that Cena had never been married and only really been in love once.

And since it was now clear that Courtney was that "one great love," Dave found Trish's explanation a little hard to believe. "Please, Trish," he added, crossing his arms. "Enlighten me as to the intricacies of your master plan."

"He's my son," she answered calmly, her voice hushed.


	31. A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: Thanks for the supportive reviews. I promise, the surprising revelations aren't over yet.

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The room fell silent. Eddie hung his head, unable to meet his friend's eye. "Did you know about this?" Dave demanded. When Eddie nodded, Dave threw his arms up in the air. "What the fuck," was all he could manage.

Trish sat her glass on the end table beside her and stood up, moving to the image on the platform as Courtney and John stood beside her car, hugging and smiling. "Ovarian cancer is not discerning. It doesn't really give a flying fuck if you're the twenty-six-year-old single mother of a three-year-old, living on welfare with no one to turn to for help.

"For ten years after I died, I watched my son bounce around the foster system, from home to abusive home, treated like a parasite or a disease," she explained, her voice devoid of any emotion as her eyes stayed fixed on his face. "You can't imagine how difficult it is to watch your only son get beaten because of something he had no control over."

Dave's face remained stoic. He had never been much of a "chick flick" guy, and he found himself growing agitated. All he wanted were some answers. Did that make him a selfish son of a bitch? Probably. But he felt too betrayed at the moment to care.

"When he was twelve, I was called into the Higher Power's chambers," she explained, crossing her arms. "I'm not here because I was such a great person, Dave," she admitted. "I tried my best to keep myself out of trouble, and I did what I could to help my fellow man. But I was no saint." Returning her eyes to the platform, she reached out and touched John's shoulder. "Sometimes it's not about who you are, but about who you leave behind," she whispered cryptically.

Eddie leaned forward on the couch, noting the confusion on Dave's face. "The Higher Power offered Trish a trade. She would become an angel, spend the rest of eternity listening to other people's problems and helping them through their grief. And in return, her son would have the life she had always wanted for him - wealth, opportunity, education."

"He had a hard time adjusting to that family - they were so different than what he was used to. They loved him, and they gave him everything, but he didn't really know how to take it," Trish went on to explain as John and Courtney left the restaurant arm-in-arm. "His first year at the Academy was so hard on him. He pulled some pretty low grades, and he started a couple of fights. He was close to getting kicked out," She smiled and reached toward the woman in the image beside her son. "And then he met Courtney Lane."

Turning slowly, Dave watched as John and Courtney laughed together, something stirring in his gut. "And she saved him from himself?" he asked, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"She gave him a purpose. Junior year, sixteen years old, and the media followed her around like the plague. Her father had gotten a lot of attention for his opinions on gun control and immigration. There were a lot of people who wanted to dig up dirt on the senator, and I guess they thought the best way to do that would be through his daughter.

"John went into guard-dog mode. They were inseparable. At first, it was a friend thing, but then it evolved. And by junior prom, they were attached at the lips," she smiled slightly at the couple on her platform. "I had never seen my son that happy. Not since I was alive, anyway."

Dave sighed and sat on the couch. "So I get that you liked Courtney for making your son happy in high school." He thought for a moment, as though trying to process everything this woman knew about his wife - things he couldn't begin to pretend to know. "So you what? Just decided to use my passing as a way to hook them back up?"

She didn't deny it as she circled the platform, her eyes now meeting Dave's with no sign of fear. "John's a happy guy, Dave. He's successful, he's fulfilled, he doesn't complain. But he dates a lot of women who only want his money, or his fame, or his body. He's never met anyone else like Courtney. I've never seen anyone else make him that happy.

"So, when Eddie told me that you had arrived, I saw my opportunity. Courtney was single again. She could be with John," she stated simply, as though it made perfect sense.

But it didn't make sense. Not to Dave, who sat with a confounded expression on his face. "Why offer to help me?" he asked. "I mean, you could have just gone to Courtney yourself, right? Why try to help me exact my plan first?"

Trish laughed and shook her head. "Because your plan made mine that much easier," she said. "I mean, come on, Dave. Your plan, from the beginning, has been to force her into a relationship with a man she doesn't love, and push her back toward a life she doesn't want." She shrugged her arms. "All I had to do was wait until she'd had enough of your bull shit plan, and she was all but primed for mine."

They all looked toward the platform as Courtney wrapped her arms around John's waist and stared up into his eyes. _"Maybe we should try it again," _she said as she rested her head against his broad chest.

Standing from the couch, Dave slammed his fist into the wall without even cringing. "Motherfucking son of a bitch," he shouted. He had been outsmarted. This bitch had outsmarted him, outplayed him. She had underminded him. And he didn't take well to being defeated.

Seething and hissing, Dave paced the back of the room while Trish and Eddie kept their eyes trained on the image of the couple before them. When Courtney drove out of the frame, leaving them to watch a content-looking John, Dave finally smiled. "Looks like she's headed back to New York," he stated, feeling a slight twinge of victory in his gut. "Back to Randy."

"Or Nitro," Trish countered, raising her eyebrow. "Wait, no," Trish shook her head and bit her lip. "That's not going to happen."

Curiosity got the better of him. "What do you mean?"

With the raise of an eyebrow, Trish moved toward the kitchen and dropped her cup in the sink. It was as if revealing her plan had put a new spring in her step. Almost as though she was proud of herself for putting one over on Dave. "Let's just say that our boy Nitro will be exiting the picture shortly."

While he couldn't say he wasn't happy about that, Dave began to feel the walls closing in around him. He needed to think, to get away from her, to figure out his next move. "This isn't over," he warned as he headed into the hallway, slamming the door to shut out the sound of her laughter.

He was busy beating the wall when Eddie joined him in the hallway. "I'm sorry, Dave. I should have told you," he said, his voice heavily apologetic.

Turning, Dave rested against the wall. "What happens now?" he asked, though it felt like his brain was on autopilot, words coming out of his mouth without being processed through his brain first. "I mean, clearly Trish and I have conflicting agendas here."

"You both want what's best for your loved ones, Homes." Eddie reminded, leaning on the wall across from his old friend. "I don't know what happens now."

Running his hands over his head, Dave let out a deep breath. "Trish is an angel. I'm not," he stated sadly. "Her will is going to win out over mine, man. Courtney's going to end up with John."

At the sound of his prediction, Eddie shook his head. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, she's not really acting like an angel right now," he rolled his eyes. "In fact, if you ask me, you're both acting like stupid fools."

"I didn't ask," Dave reminded warily.

With sagging shoulders, Eddie pushed off the wall. "You say you want to make ammends for your mistakes, Dave," he reminded. "But how do you expect to do that when you keep making the same ones? You're not on crack anymore, but you're still as controlling a motherfucker as you ever were." Patting his shoulder, Eddie turned to walk away, stopping only to look over his shoulder one last time. "You wanna do what's right by your wife? You gotta let her go."


	32. Paranoia

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: I had a much longer note here, but I think I'm just going to suffice it to say this: your reviews have meant so much more than you can possibly know in the last few days. Life gets crazy sometimes, and we look for comfort anywhere we can find it. I am extremely blessed to have someone in my life who offers me unconditional support, and consider myself lucky to have all of you out there, reading my stuff and sending your reviews to let me know that my shit touches you, or at least keeps you entertained. So thanks for your time, and Enjoy!

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For the duration of the drive from Vermont back to New York, Courtney had pep-talked herself into doing what she wanted to do. Sure, it was a scary prospect. Going after what she wanted meant people were going to get hurt, and that she might have to give a little to gain a lot. But she could do it. She deserved to give herself the life that she had always wanted. And, though she felt a little guilty for thinking it, she knew that she had earned some happiness for herself.

But decisions were easily made in the peaceful sanctuary of the car. Back at home, staring at the ceiling as Randy slept beside her, reality made everything ten times more complicated. Doubt began to creep into the corners of her mind. What if it wasn't the right decision? What if her heart couldn't be trusted? What if she just managed to fuck everything up in the process of trying to do the right thing?

Randy rolled over and slung an arm around her in his sleep, grunting slightly as he burrowed his face into the back of her neck. She could feel his warm, naked skin against his back, and the butterflies in her stomach fought for position as she settled back against his chest.

She allowed her mind to wander through time, thinking over the events in her life that had brought her to this moment. She thought about the way Randy used to look at her in the student center when they were in high school, his crystal eyes begging her to notice him, to give him a chance. She thought about the way her stomach had dropped to her toes when he walked back into her life years later, this time as Dave's assistant.

And she thought about all of the times he had helped through the most difficult of Dave's outbursts, the ones she never could have handled on her own. Sometimes he would help her drag her husband's nearly-lifeless body from the bathroom or the kitchen into the bedroom. Sometimes he would offer to make a run to Dave's dealer so that Courtney didn't have to trek to the seedy side of downtown to make a purchase.

And sometimes they would just laugh together about how absurdly ridiculous her husband could be when he was high. As one particular memory washed over Courtney, her shoulders began to shake. She was trying not to wake Randy, but it was all she could do to contain her giggles, and soon they were spilling over.

"What's so funny?" Randy mumbled against her neck.

Rolling over in his arms, Courtney smiled at his semi-conscious face. "Remember that time in Paris? When Dave was convinced you and I were sleeping together?"

Randy smiled slightly, still fighting sleep as his mind involuntarily fluttered to the moment which Courtney was referring.

_It had been a long day, and tomorrow didn't look much more promising. All Randy really wanted was a hot shower and a soft bed. _

_Like any other business trip, Dave had already settled into his room for the night, probably snorting something to take off the edge before partying until the sun came up. And no matter how little sleep he got, he would still show up at Randy's door looking refreshed and ready to face the day at seven. Those were the moments when Randy thought he truly hated Dave._

_Back in Washington, Courtney had already been sound asleep for a few hours when her cell phone rang. In a groggy mumble, she reluctantly answered. "Courtney Lane-Batista."_

_"Princess," Dave's smooth, deep voice flowed through the phone line. "Are you asleep?"_

_"Why are you calling me?" she asked, looking at the face of her phone. The only times she ever got to bed before midnight were the nights when Dave was away on business. And if she did the math right, it was nearly four in the morning in Paris. _

_"I miss you, Princess," he whined slightly. "I miss you so much." He breathed for a few moments, heavy sounds that stirred something in Courtney's belly. "I love you so much, Courtney," he added, sniffling._

_Fighting to sit, Courtney looked around the room. "Dave, stop crying," she rolled her eyes and pushed her matted hair out of her face. He went on, mumbling about how much he loved, needed, and wanted her. "Are you high?"_

_He ignored the question, and Courtney knew she really didn't have to ask. Lately, it seemed like he was always high. "I wish I was home with you, Princess. I wish I was running my hands over your smooth body, hearing your voice when you whimper and writhe under my touch." _

_The line went dead and Courtney stared at the phone in her hand. Had he called in the middle of the night for this? Surely he hadn't woken her from a peaceful sleep to get her all worked up and then hang up on her? "Fucker," she muttered, sinking back into the covers._

_The phone rang again, and when she answered, and he apologized for accidentally hanging up the phone. Dave told her how much he loved her, and how he wished he was there to trail kisses over her breasts and stomach. He wished he could dip his tongue in her navel and feel her muscles tighten under the gentle prodding of his mouth. And then he hung up again._

_This time, Courtney could have sworn she heard him giggle before the line went silent. He was fucking playing with her. Sometimes his teasing was hot as hell. And sometimes, when he was acting like a junior high boy on crack, it was beyond annoying. _

_Well, Courtney decided, if he wanted to be a juvenile motherfucker, she could give it right back to him. So when he called the third time, she laid back against the pillows and lifted the phone to her ear. "Orton?" she muttered sleepily. "Is that you?" _

_"WHAT?" Dave's screech forced her to hold the phone away from her ear as Courtney chuckled to herself and hung up the phone, waiting for him to call back._

_What she hadn't intended was for Dave to take her joke so seriously. Instead of dialing his wife again, he jumped from the bed and charged into the hallway, like an angry bull in search of a china shop to terrorize. _

_Pounding on the door of Randy's room, he seemed to forget that he was completely naked and making enough noise to wake a small French village. "I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE, ORTON! OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR, MOTHERFUCKER!"_

_Flying up in the bed, Randy didn't even glance at the clock before racing to the door. In his groggy state, Dave's visit struck a deep fear in his chest and his heart pounded as he threw the door open. "What is it?" he asked, panic in his voice._

_Dave pushed past his young assistant and stood in the middle of the hotel room with his hands on his hips. "Are you fucking my wife?"_

_Randy's eyebrow shot up. "What?" He took a moment to let his eyes sweep over his boss's naked form. "Dude, you're naked," he stated dumbly, his brain still fogged with sleep._

_If he had even noticed his nudity, Dave didn't care. His mind was focused on one thing. "You're fucking my wife, aren't you?"_

_Rolling his eyes, Randy made his way back to the bed. There had been a time when Dave's violent, drug induced outbursts intimidated him. But he had been around long enough to know now that the man was harmless. Even if he had tried something, he was clearly fucked up and Randy knew he could, at the very least, outrun the angry giant._

_Looking at the clock, his heart sank. 4:30. He still had a good two hours of sleep, and Dave had interrupted it. The look on the older man's face said he wasn't leaving until he was satisfied. "No, Dave, I am not fucking Courtney," he insisted, laying back in the bed._

_"Don't fuckin' lie to me, Orton," Dave shot back, his tone angry, but his expression beginning to relax. "I know you're fucking my wife, motherfucker. You've been sneaking around behind my back and I know it now."_

_Flipping the light off beside the bed, Randy turned on his side and closed his eyes tightly. "Okay, Dave," he finally agreed, his voice dripping with patronizing concession. "Whatever you say, man." _

_There was silence for a moment, and Randy thought that maybe his mentor had decided to sleep on the couch. Until he felt the bed move. Turning on the light again, he rolled over to see Dave leaning against the headboard, his eyes trained on Randy's form. _

_"Motherfucker, what are you doing?" Randy asked flatly, as though this was not a new development. Truth be told, it wasn't. Though Dave had never accused him of anything quite so crazy, he had said a million ridiculous things when he was high. And while he found it highly irritating, Randy couldn't really complain, since nights like this were always followed by substantial raises in pay, or bonuses when Dave realized what an ass he had been._

_"Making sure you don't fuck my wife," Dave responded, his voice deathly serious._

_Raising an eyebrow, Randy considered him. "Dude, you realize we're in Paris, right?" Dave nodded. "And Courtney is in DC?" Again, he nodded. "Jesus Christ, Dave. I mean, I'm hangin' pretty long, but not enough to fuck your wife across the ocean and three states," he sighed, running a hand over his hair and face in exhaustion._

_"I'm watching you," was Dave's response as he continued to glare at Randy. "I know you're fucking my wife."_

_"You're right, Dave," he muttered, turning on his side once more. As he turned the light off again, Randy found the paranoia almost funny. There were moments when the addiction was truly sad. And then there were moments like this. Ones that could only be laughed off as absurd and ridiculous. "I'm fucking Courtney right now," he added sarcastically as he began to slip into another peaceful sleep._

"He was pretty convinced," Courtney laughed.

Randy sighed and rolled onto his back. "Remember when we got home and he insisted I sleep on your couch so he could keep an eye on both of us?" He kissed Courtney's shoulder. "He was one fucked up crack head," he sighed. "You need to make cole slaw for your dad's birthday party," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"Huh?"

"Your mom called. I was gonna tell you when you got home, but I got distracted," he smirked, running a finger over her bare hip. When her body shuddered, he kissed her again. "You do remember we're going to your dad's barbecue, right? Sunday?"

Nodding, Courtney rested her head against Randy's chest. As much as she tried to deny it, laying in his arms felt right. They had history together - whether it was talking about high school memories, or reminiscing good and bad times about Dave, she had a strong connection to Randy. If she stayed with him, they had a shot at a future together, too.

The only problem she could fathom as she drifted off to sleep was the possiblity that she might have a "right now" with Nitro.


	33. I Know What I Want

Courtney told Randy that she was going to work half the day, and then get her nails done before they left for her parents' DC estate. Instead, she worked half the day and then trekked a few blocks north to Nitro's apartment.

As though it were a bolt of lightning, an epiphany struck Courtney while she was working in the shop that morning. Laying with Randy, worrying about the unresolved nature of her relationship with Nitro, and mulling over the words John had said in Vermont all had her going crazy. They were all important to her, but there was only one of them that she wanted to be with. And she was no longer willing to sacrifice her own happiness to spare anyone's feelings.

Climbing the steps to his studio, Courtney prayed that Nitro would be home. If he wasn't, she would never go through with her carefully laid out plan of attack. As she raised a trembling hand and knocked on the door, she thought over the speech that she had written in her head earlier in the morning.

There was a long silence, but as she began to knock a second time, the door slid open. "Hey," she smiled, offering him a half-wave.

Dressed only in a pair of dirty jeans, his hair was piled on top of his head and paint splattered adorned his bare chest. "Welcome back," he smiled, stepping aside for her to enter.

Courtney stepped past him and stopped in the middle of the room. "So, I've been doing a lot of thinking lately," she began, twisting her hands together in front of her. But whens he raised her eyes to his, her mind went blank. "And now I don't remember any of it," she muttered, almost to herself.

With a gracious grin, Nitro headed toward the kitchen. "Can I get you a beer?"

"No, thanks." She shook her head and returned her eyes to the floor, fighting to remember her speech. "Just give me a minute."

Hoisting himself onto the counter, Nitro looked at the young woman in the center of his floor. The way she was shifting her weight from one foot to the other and wringing her thin hands put him on edge. He cleared his throat. "Court, if you're here to "break up" with me," he started, making air quotes around the words, "just do it, okay? It's not like I haven't seen it coming or anything."

Biting her lip, she looked into his brown eyes once more. "I'm selling Ronzio," she stated quickly.

That wasn't what he had been expecting. Setting his bottle on the chrome table top beside him, he folded his hands. "Um, okay?"

With a sigh, Courtney ran her hands through her hair and walked toward him, dropping onto the stool at his side. "Okay, long story short? I went to Vermont to clear my head. Ran into an old friend who encouraged me to stop worrying about what everyone else wants for my life and just do what I want," she explained.

"I thought I told you that months ago, but go on," Nitro gave her a good-natured smile as he nudged her with his knee.

Courtney shot him a withering look and leaned against the table. "I know, I know," she conceded. "But it just clicked, ya know?" He nodded. "And what I really want is a Senate seat by my thirtieth birthday." She blushed at the admission.

Nitro was silent for a moment as he watched her sheepish posturing. "Why are you blushing?" She shrugged. "If it's what you want, Courtney, you should go for it." When she turned hopeful eyes to him, he felt his heart flutter. "Come on. I know this isn't something you would do if you didn't want to - if you were just doing it for daddy, you would have sold the shop a long time ago." He grazed her cheek with his hand as he pushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "I'm proud of you for finally embracing it, actually."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Courtney asked, drawing her legs up and resting her chin on her knees. "Finally embracing it?"

"It's kinda obvious, Kiddo," Nitro shrugged, taking another drink of his beer. "You think like a politician. It's in everything you do - the way you run your business, the way you argue over VH1 shows, the way you insist that you know how to make the best quesadilla ever."

She rolled her eyes. "I do. My quesadilla was so much better than yours," she scrunched her nose.

"I already told you I would vote for you if you ever ran for office, didn't I?" She nodded. "Well, you know I wasn't just sayin' it so you'd fuck me," he teased, drawing a genuine smile from the young woman beside him. "Decisions aren't always easy, for sure. But you always know when you made the right one, and I can tell that you did."

His validation of her choice to re-enter the political arena gave her a sense of satisfaction she couldn't describe. "Thank you," she whispered, laying a hand on his knee. "But that's not all I decided."

Jumping off of the counter, Nitro tossed his beer bottle into a bag in the corner and leaned across from Courtney. "Don't think I'm gonna send you and Orton lovely wedding gifts," he warned. "Just cause I'm happy you're taking control of your life doesn't mean I'm taking the high road when it comes to losing the woman I care about to a jackass, cocky motherfucker."

The laughter that rolled off of Courtney's lips like music to his ears. "Nitro," she started.

But he interrupted by pulling a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket and tossing it onto the counter between them. "It's okay, Courtney. I mean, it wouldn't have worked for us anyway, right?"

She cringed. She had come to his loft with every intention of telling him that she was going back into politics, but that she wanted to be with him. Sure, she had a past with Randy. Sure, he was the guy that would make her parents happy. And he was the guy that made the most sense for her at that point.

But it wasn't Randy that she looked forward to seeing every day at the coffee shop. And Randy wasn't the one who laid on the floor and debated Doritos v. Cheetos with her for an hour. And it wasn't Randy who made her tummy flip-flop. It was Nitro.

"I got a job offer," Nitro interrupted her thoughts, sliding the paper in his hand across the table top.

Courtney looked over the wrinkled proposal. An art museum was looking for a curator, and they had found his resume impressive. "That's really," she started, but then stopped abruptly. Her brown eyes searched his. "It's in Chicago," she said.

Nitro nodded. "Yeah." With a slight, throw-away laugh, he shrugged. "I don't even remember sending them a resume, but the guy on the phone was really cool, and it's a great opportunity. The gallery is huge, and they do independent showings once a month, so I could get my stuff out there in a big market."

As he continued to ramble on about the selling points of the new position, Courtney gripped the table top for support. She had everything planned, even down the speech she was going to give her parents about how she was falling for Nitro and that she had to do what made her happy. And him running off to Chicago was not part of the plan.

But the smile on his lips was overwhelming. How could she expect him to support her dream if she wasn't willing to support his? This was what he wanted, what they had talked about that first night in the coffee shop. She couldn't ask him to stay on her behalf. And she couldn't see herself running off to Chicago with him.

"That's great, Nitro," she smiled, emotions masked to perfection. "I'm really, really happy for you."

He rounded the counter and embraced her in a tight hug that shot bolts of electricity through both of them. Pushing her hair behind her ears again, he held her face carefully in his hands. "Kinda wish it woulda worked out for us, though," he whispered.

She could feel his breath on his lips as her eyes drifted close. Another couple of centimeters and she would lose any facade she had constructed in the last few minutes. "Everything happens for a reason, right?" she whispered, stepping away from his embrace.

"Yeah," he agreed, though his tone was anything but affirmative. "You're gonna be a great senator, Courtney Lane-Batista," he winked.

But Courtney shook her head as she he walked her to the door. "It's just Courtney Lane for now."


	34. Always a Step Behind

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys. I've been dealing with some family issues lately, and your words have really helped perk my spirits. You don't know what that means to me. Enjoy!

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Trish knew that her recent behavior could be classified as "shady." But she also knew that her son deserved all of the happiness in the world, and that Courtney could give that to him. She wasn't about to apologize for the plan she had set in motion anymore than she was willing to back down to Dave's glares and growls.

All she had to do was nudge Courtney a little further in John's direction, and the rest would work itself out. Once they were living happily-ever-after, Trish would worry about the ethics and morality of what she had done. But for now, she had a plan to see through.

"Hey Randy," she greeted easily as the door opened slightly. "Is Courtney around?"

Shaking his head, Randy stood back and eyed the little woman on his front steps. A tumbler full of dark whiskey dangled between his fingers as he pulled the door open further and leaned against it. "She's not home yet."

Trish bit her lip and examined him a little more closely. His eyes were blood shot and he continued to lick his lips, as though they were swollen. "Well, do you know when she might be home?"

He shook his head and took another drink from the glass in his hand. "She was supposed to be home by two." He checked his watch and then squinted against the blazing sunlight. "It's 5:30," he added.

"I know," Trish responded, pushing past him and letting herself into the living room. "You don't mind if I wait, do you?"

Shrugging, Randy closed the door and stepped back to the wetbar in the living room, topping his glass off. He sank into his oversized recliner and put his feet up. "She's with Nitro," he said pitifully before taking another drink.

If he wanted to be assured that his girlfriend wasn't out with another man, Trish couldn't grant his request. It was a pretty safe bet that Courtney was at Nitro's apartment. But telling him not to worry, that Nitro was going to be headed out of their lives and up to Chicago soon enough, was not an option. He didn't need to know that she was the one who had delivered his resume to the owner of the gallery in Illinois. None of them needed to know that.

"You wanna talk about it?" Trish asked, leaning forward on the couch to touch his knee. When he didn't flinch, she scooted a little bit closer. "I mean, clearly something is bothering you."

Randy swirled the alcohol in his glass and smirked at the woman before him. "Is she cheating on me?" he asked simply.

"You mean is she still fucking Nitro?" Trish asked pointedly. Randy just took another drink, his face stoic. "I don't know. I don't think so."

He gave a half-chuckle and rolled his shoulders. "Always a step behind," he muttered.

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Nevermind," Randy answered, finishing off his glass before heading back to the bar for another. Instead of filling the tumbler, he gripped the neck of the whiskey bottle in his large palm and returned to his chair, taking a long swig and swallowing hard.

"Randy, can I ask you a question?"

He just shrugged. "Go ahead."

Choosing her words carefully, Trish slid back on the couch and ran her hands through her blonde locks. She had witnessed Randy's temper, through images on Dave's platform, and it seemed that one of the things he had learned best from Dave was explosive outbursts. Disarming the bomb that was Orton was a task for a steady head and hand.

"You love Courtney, right?" The glare he gave her was the only response he needed. "And you want her to be happy?"

"If this is about to turn into one of those 'If you love her, let her go' speeches, Trish? Save your breath. She is the only woman I have ever loved, and I'm not giving up on her now."

Something about his demeanor, the frigid tone of his voice and the way his shoulders tensed at the mere thought of losing Courtney, made Trish slightly uncomfortable. Assuming that it was just the alcohol talking, she leaned back on the couch and considered him carefully.

"Was it hard for you to watch her with Dave? Being married to someone else?" she asked, treading carefully the line between "psychiatrist" and "friend." If Randy got suspicious, she would have a lot of tracks to cover, and her plan didn't need that kind of pressure at the moment.

He shook his head and drank deep from the bottle once more. "It was hard to watch her married to someone who didn't appreciate her. Dave said he loved her, but fuck, Trish," he laughed and shook his head. "The motherfucker never once tried to give up his habit for her. It was never about her. Their entire relationship was about him." His gaze drifted to the floor and he tapped his fingers against the bottle.

When he turned pained eyes to Trish, she felt her heart lurch. If her plan worked, this man watching her now would be hurting even worse. Sure, he would put on his "television" face and pretend that everything was fine, but his heart would break.

"She's lucky to have you, Randy," Trish encouraged, standing from the couch and running her hands nervously over her jeans. "I'm sure she'll be home soon," she added, patting his arm softly.

He didn't rise from the chair as Trish let herself out, hurrying down the sidewalk for a secluded place to return to the Other Side. She thought she could play the game with Dave. She could devise a plan and carry it out. She was a mother - she could justify wanting what was best for her child. But she hadn't accounted for one thing.

Her conscience was now eating away at her. Every day, she felt a longer, more profound twinge that what she was trying to do, what all of them were trying to do, wasn't right. These were not pawns in a lively game of After-Life chess. They were people, with free will and feelings.

_Dammit_, she thought as she hurried through the hallways toward her room. When she had become an angel, the Higher Powers had installed a finely attuned moral compass in Trish's conscience, one that would help her point others on the path toward serenity and healing. And now it was spinning out of control, searching desparately for the path Trish had begun veering off of years ago.

Rounding the corner to her room, she determined to splash some water on her face, collect herself, and figure out the next step in pushing John and Courtney together. Of course, the visitor waiting for her was an unexpected glitch in that idea.

"What do you want, Eddie? I'm kinda busy," Trish breathed as she pushed past him and into her room.

"Trish," he said her name softly, causing her to stop and look back at him. His eyes filled with compassion, as he moved toward her and put a hand on her arm. "You know what you have to do."


	35. Daddy's Girl

The car ride from Manhattan to Washington had been tense, to say the least. By the time Courtney arrived home, Randy had the car loaded for their trip. Neither of them had said much, an unspoken tension hanging between them even as they arrived in DC just before midnight.

As she stood at the kitchen island, Courtney threw her frustrations into preparing food for her father's party. She wouldn't cry. It didn't matter that Nitro was all but gone, out of her life forever. And it didn't matter that Randy wouldn't talk to her. This weekend was about more than celebrating her father's 60 years of life. It was about reintroducing herself to the public as a political player.

"Corabeth?"

At the sound of the nickname her father had coined when she was just a child, Courtney looked up and smiled. "Hey, Daddy," she whispered, tucking her hair behind her ears as she went back to her work.

"What are you doing?" Sean Lane asked, sidling up to his daughter at the counter.

"Making the cole slaw for your party," she answered easily as he reached into the bowl and plucked out a piece of cabbage.

"Isn't it kind of late for that?" the senator asked as he chewed.

Courtney turned and washed her hands quickly before grabbing a dish of shredded carrots. "If I don't do it tonight, it won't have time to chill before the party," she answered distractedly, refusing to meet her father's eye. If there was anyone in the world who could read her like a book, it was her father.

With a hand on her wrist, Sean drew his daughter's eye. "Sweetheart," he started. When she shook her head and started to turn again, he tightened his grip. "You wanna tell me why you're really down here? Instead of in bed with your boyfriend? Why there's a suffocating tension in this house that didn't arrive until you did?"

She cringed. She was an adult - one who had already been married once - but hearing her father imply that she should be in bed with her boyfriend still made her uncomfortable. "I don't know what you're talking about, Daddy. Things with Randy and I are fine."

Sean sank to one of the stools by the island and rested his chin on his hand. "If you're going to be a politician, you're going to have to learn to lie better than that, Corabeth," he said sleepily. "Does this have anything to do with the artist you brought to the EPA fund raiser?"

Sighing heavily, Courtney lifted her finished cole slaw from the counter and headed for one of the industrial-sized refrigerators. "Don't worry, Daddy. Nitro is a non-issue."

Though he tried to mask it, Sean couldn't help releasing a slight sigh of relief. "Oh?" he asked, though his tone was anything but interested.

Turning with a hand on her hip, Courtney nodded. "He got a job offer in Chicago. He is going to be the curator of a gallery there." Her father's eyebrow shot up in surprise. "Yeah, I guess his Masters degree in Art History was more impressive to other people than it was to you and Mom," she added snidely.

"Now just a minute, young lady," her father's tone went from friendly to fatherly in a flash. "I never said there was anything wrong with your friend. I simply said that you could do better." With a sigh, he shook his head. "You have a great man upstairs, Courtney. And one who could be a very beneficial asset to this family."

Leaning against the counter, she braced herself for the inevitable "pep talk." It was a tradition for Sean and Alissa Lane to remind their daughter continuously of her responsibility to the family. Especially if they thought she was headed toward a bad decision.

"Don't give me that attitude," Sean warned. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Randy has a sterling reputation and an impeccable pedigree. He is exactly the kind of man that you need beside you in your senate pursuit," he argued. "And his father would make a fantastic running mate in the next Presidential race. The kind of "warm-hearted, down home" press that would come from that sort of story would almost make up for the scandal your former husband brought on this family."

Courtney could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. It was rare that she have a confrontation with her mother. But her father? She never talked back to her father. Her parents were intimidating, and she feared disappointing them even in her late-twenties. Of course, that was before her father brought Dave into the conversation.

"I know you didn't just say that," she hissed, narrowing her eyes with her hands on her hips.

Rolling his eyes, Sean sat straighter on his stool. "Do not stand there as though you have a right to be offended at the truth. You know as well as I do that your husband's death drug this family's name through the dirt."

Every fear she had ever harbored of her father seemed to vanish as he continued to berate her late husband. "Stop it," she held up a hand, her voice raising slightly. "I know that David had his problems. I know that better than anyone. Surely better than you could ever pretend to know it. He was not perfect. But he did everything in his power to help your platform, to push you into the public eye as often as possible.

"No one benefited professionally from our marriage more than you did, Dad, so don't you dare sit there on your high horse and pretend like you don't owe him a fucking debt of gratitude that you're self-righteous pride will never allow you to repay." She felt as though her face was on fire as she gripped the counter top and fought to catch her breath.

Sean seemed shocked as he sat back and absorbed the words his daughter had just thrown at him. "First of all, I don't care how old you are, you will never raise your voice to me in this house again. Is that clear?" She rolled her eyes. "And second of all, you stand there and defend the man as though you understand the toll his death took on your mother and I. You conveniently ran off to Europe and hid from the prying eyes of the cameras."

Shaking her head, Courtney stomped her foot, knowing that she was acting like a child. "No," she stopped him. "You don't get to stand there and pretend that this is my fucking fault. And you sure as hell can't expect me to fix it by forcing me to marry someone that I don't love just because his father would make a great fucking running mate."

Both Lanes sat stock still, staring at one another for a long moment before Sean took a deep breath and began to speak. "In a perfect world, you would get the right ot make your own decisions. You would be afforded the opportunity to speak your mind and live your own life." Standing, he moved closer to her. "But in this world, you do not do what you want, but what you have to do. You are a part of this family, whether you like it or not, Courtney. And I expect you to act like it." He kissed the top of her head before turning to leave the room.

Sinking to the floor, Courtney held her head in her hands and thought about her father's words. Was he right? Did she really have no choice but to do whatever they said? John had said that she should pursue her dreams whether anyone else liked them or not, and she had believed that it was possible to do so. But her father's tone was so authoritative, his logic so convincing, that she wondered if she ever had a prayer of taking control of her own life.


	36. Undeniable

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: This chapter contains sexual content. Enjoy!

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It was common knowledge, not only in the political world, that no one threw a party like the Lane family. The senator's birthday bash drew not only his fellow pundits, but also a slew of celebrities and media correspondents. Anyone considered remotely powerful could be found milling around the backyard of the palatial estate on Sunday afternoon.

Courtney watched from the kitchen doorway as Randy chatted with a few of his colleagues. A tall champagne flute dangled between his fingers as he laughed about something the other men were saying. The fact that he was beautiful was not even a question in her mind at that moment. His charisma, his charm, and the warmth with which he drew the men around him into conversation was undeniable.

Somewhere between four and five in the morning, she had made a decision. As she watched him sleeping, she realized that he was not the dorky kid she had known in high school. And he wasn't just Dave's assistant. The things that had been holding her back from moving her relationship with Randy forward were not really issues at all. They were hurdles in her own mind, nothing more.

As though he could feel her eyes, Randy turned and offered her a smile. Though they had yet to talk about what had happened yesterday, about how much Randy really knew about the Nitro situation, Courtney could tell that he was willing to let it go. At least for now, in front of their peers. And that, in itself, told her that he was the right man for her.

When they met at patio bar, Randy dropped a kiss on Courtney's cheek and rested his hand on her hip. "You look beautiful, Sweetheart," he said with a soft sincerity.

Courtney absorbed the compliment and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Is this shirt new?" she asked, her eyes sweeping over the periwinkle fabric against his skin. When he nodded, she smiled. "It looks great on you."

His face lit up as he sat his glass on the bar and wove his fingers through hers. "Come on," he said, leading her toward the house.

"Where are we going?" Courtney asked, a giggle in her voice as she followed him through the kitchen and toward the stairs. "Randy, we have guests," she started to protest.

But he shook his head. "No. We are guests. This is not your party," he reminded.

Rolling her eyes, Courtney followed as he pushed the door to their bedroom open with his shoulder. "As a part of the family, I'm kind of one of the hosts," she retorted.

"Okay," he agreed, unbuttoning his shirt and dropping it to the floor. "I'm not gonna stand in your way if you want to head back outside." Stepping away from the door, he opened the clasp on his belt and swiftly unbuttoned his pants, allowing the silky fabric to pool at his feet.

Courtney raised an eyebrow. There was such a blatant, raw sexuality about the man standing before her. Without words, he could virtually command her to want him. Without another thought, she nodded toward the bed and watched him move backward, sliding his boxer briefs over his hips as he moved.

Randy laid back, resting his weight on his elbows as Courtney untied the halter straps from around her neck and unclasped her bra, dropping it to the floor. She then stepped out of her dress and slid her fingers into the waistband of her sheer panties. As she uncovered herself at a painstaking rate, Randy's eyes never left her face. Even as she exposed herself to him, he seemed more interested in the wanton desire washing over her features.

With a smirk of her own, Courtney straddled her boyfriend on the bed and ran her fingernails down his chest. "You're warm," she commented, running her hands from his pecs to his navel and back again.

He trapped one of her hands with his and lifted her fingers to his mouth, sucking her middle one between his lips. When he let go, his hands slid under her dress and encased her thighs, kneading and massaging them gently. "You're hot," he whispered.

Courtney lowered her face to Randy's as he directed her hips down over his erection. Covering his lips with hers, she groaned loudly as he filled her completely. Even after nearly a year together, his size still took some getting used to, and she found herself fighting tears as she began to rotate her hips and slowly ride him.

Randy sucked hungrily on Courtney's lips as she found a rhythm, sliding effortlessly up and down his shaft. Sweat beads gathered on his chest as she began to whimper and moan louder against his lips. Tearing his lips from hers, he pulled her face toward his shoulder and sucked on her earlobe. "Your pussy feels so fucking good wrapped around my cock like that, Baby," he whispered gruffly, noting that the dirty talk only made Courtney ride faster.

Her body was on fire as Randy continued to pump inside her, and Courtney ripped herself away from his grasp, shaking her hair as she sat straight and arched her back. When his hands covered her breasts, she groaned loudly and emitted a low "yes" from the back of her throat. How he had learned the things he did to her were not important. All that mattered to Courtney was that he did them.

Nitro had been good. His bedroom style was creative and unique. But Randy was a god. He found places inside her that she didn't even know existed, taking her body to places she had never even thought to imagine. Maybe she didn't love him yet. But if he kept fucking her like this, she was pretty sure she could learn to someday.

Feeling that his end was nearing, Randy managed to flip them over and drive Courtney's knees to her shoulders, holding her ankles as he thrust with an animal intensity into her tight opening. No longer repressing her urge to scream, she tossed her head from side to side, emitting loud "FUCK"s and "DAMMIT"s as he moved deeper inside her.

"You like this, Court?" he asked, lifting her legs from her shoulders and spreading them wide. "Tell me you love the way I fuck you," he grunted.

"FUCK!" Courtney screamed as her body stiffened and raised off the bed slightly, her orgasm slamming over her with a violent intensity. "Motherfucker!" she added in a slightly softer tone, her face twisted in blissful agony.

With little warning, Randy felt his own orgasm washing over him. Grasping his shaft with one hand, he watched Courtney's face as he came on her stomach. When she licked her lips and held her arms out to him, inviting him into her post-coital embrace, he collapsed in exhaustion. "Fuck, Baby," he whispered in her ear as he wrapped his arms around her trembling, sweaty body.

"That was," she stopped and shook her head, a giggle escaping her lips in leiu of words.

Pressing another kiss to her temple, Randy stood and grabbed his pants, heading for the bathroom. "We need to get back to the party before anyone notices we're gone." Turning back, he smiled at her from the doorway. "And I agree," he nodded. "It was."

Courtney was still glowing when the couple re-entered the backyard fifteen minutes later. If anyone had noticed their absence, they said nothing as both slid into easy conversation with various guests.

Just before sunset, after hours of partying and mingling, Sean Lane stood on the patio and raised his champagne glass. "Can I have your attention, please?" he asked loudly, taking a microphone from the band leader and thanking him with a nod. "Thank you all for coming out to celebrate this joyous occasion with the Lane family. It is my honor to have served you for the last forty years, either as your senator, your employer, your colleague, or your friend.

"But my greatest honor in life has always been my family," he smiled at Alissa, and then at Courtney, who returned the glowing gesture with the brightest smile she could muster. "And perhaps the greatest birthday present I received this year is the knowledge that my baby girl, my little Courtney," he took her hand, "will begin pursuing a seat in the Senate, representing the great state of New York."

There was a smattering of applause as Sean turned and placed both hands on Courtney's shoulders, dropping a kiss on her forhead. "I am very proud of you, my precious Corabeth," he beamed.

No matter how much she had despised him the night before, Courtney found herself basking in the glow of her father's compliment. No matter how much she wanted to believe that what he thought of her didn't matter, there was something about praise from her father that still meant something to her. And whether it was wrong or right, she felt better about her decision to run for Senator now that she had her father's public seal of approval.

So busy was she in accepting her father's affirmation that Courtney didn't realize Randy had taken the microphone from Sean. When his deep, rumbling baritone filled the air, she turned. "What are you doing?" she asked dumbly.

Randy took her hand and smiled over her shoulder at her father. "Senator, I know this is your party, and this day is supposed to be about you. But there's something that I've been wanting to say to your daughter for awhile, and in front of all of our colleagues and esteemed friends, I would like to do that now. If it's alright with you, Sir."

When Sean nodded and reached for Alissa's hand, Courtney found her fake smile wearing thin. Her heart was racing. Was he about to? No, surely he wouldn't. Not here. Not like this. In front of everyone? She hated attention. He knew that. He couldn't be. "What are you doing?" she mouthed.

Squeezing her hand, Randy licked his lips, his hand shaking just slightly as he gripped the microphone. "We've known each other for a long time, Courtney. And ours has not always been an easy path. I have seen you happy, and I have seen you in absolutely heart-wrenching agony. And through it all, your grace and your strength have drawn me to you in a way that no other woman has ever been able to capture my attention.

"I've got a lot of accomplishments of which I am extremely proud, Baby. I'm proud to be an Emmy-award winning producer. I'm proud to be a reknowned television executive. Hell, I'm proud to be in this year's issue of People's Sexiest Men Alive," he winked as the crowd released a collective chuckle.

Though she knew where this was headed, Courtney couldn't allow herself to process the information. It was as if everything inside of her body had stopped completely.

"But nothing has made me more proud than being your friend and your lover," he smiled, dropping to his knee on the concrete patio. Withdrawing a black velvet box, Randy popped the lid and revealed a beautiful princess cut diamond on a gold band. "And I would be even more proud to be your husband." Looking into her eyes, Randy spoke with a confident authority. "Courtney Elizabeth Lane, will you marry me?"

She searched his face for some explanation. Why in the hell would he ask her like this? Now? They hadn't even talked about marriage. But as she rested her gaze on his face, the answer bubbled in her throat. The tiny tears that gathered in the corners of his crystal blue orbs, the anticipation with which he was awaiting her answer, could not be denied.

Nodding, she whispered, "Yes," before she could stop herself.


	37. Severed Connection

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: This chapter came out a lot shorter than I expected it to, but sometimes I guess you don't need a lot of words to convey a point. It might be a shorty, but it's important. I think there are about five chapters left in this story, unless some other inspiration hits me out of nowhere - and I'll warn you now: They're big. If you've enjoyed the reveals to this point, been surprised by the twists that the story has taken, I promise you're not done being shocked! But we'll get to that later. For now - Enjoy!**

**Oh, and thank you so much for your reviews. They mean so much to me. You guys really are the greatest. I was about to do flips when this story reached 200 reviews, and now it looks like it might get 300. I might have to break out the real dance moves if that happens. :)

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For the first time in nearly two years, Dave felt as though he could finally rest in some peace. Courtney was planning her wedding to Randy. And she was launching her campaign for a Senate seat. Everything was exactly as he had always known it should be.

Whistling as he walked down the long corridors, he couldn't help but feel there was only one thing left for him to do. Gloat.

He had won. Courtney was marrying Randy. She wasn't with John. She wasn't with Nitro. She was choosing his life, continuing down the path that they had started together. And Trish was going to hear about it.

He had been described, many times, as a sore loser. He wasn't exactly a gracious winner, either.

"Dave," Eddie's voice interrupted him as he rounded the corner toward Trish's room. "Where you headed, Homes?"

"Hey, man," Dave smiled and shook his friend's hand. "Have you seen Trish? I've got some big news for her."

Eddie eyed Dave curiously. "Big news?"

Barely able to contain his joy, a wider smile broke over Dave's lips. "Dude, Courtney's getting married."

The confusion was evident on Eddie's handsome features. "Married?"

"Yeah, man." He looked like a kid on Christmas morning as he clapped his hands together and let out another impromptu laugh. "Randy proposed. She accepted. They're getting married."

"Really?"

Rolling his eyes, Dave rested a hand in the pocket of his white pants. "No, motherfucker. I'm makin' all this shit up because I'm bored and there's just nothing better to do."

Eddie sighed and leaned against the wall. "Alright, funny man," he conceded. A part of him was truly glad to see his friend so happy. But the cost at which Dave had purchased his happiness was more than Eddie could condone. "So you got your way," he sighed.

"Look, I know you don't agree with my methods," Dave started, cutting his friend off before he could preach about the ethics of the situation. "But just come watch the wedding with me. You'll see that I was right," he invited.

A cloud seem to settle over Eddie's face, something foreboding. "Watch," he said softly. "Right."

Dave narrowed his eyes, the shift in his friend's demeanor evident. "What's that look for?" When Eddie looked at the ground, Dave took a step forward. "Eddie." His tone was low, warning that he didn't want any bull shit.

And Eddie wasn't one for slinging it. With pained eyes, he met his friend's gaze. "Trish is in conference with the Higher Power," he informed.

"So?"

"She's confessing everything," Eddie added gravely.

If the statement alone didn't sound bad enough, the look on Eddie's face told Dave that something was not right. "And that's not good?"

Eddie shrugged his broad shoulders and stared at the ceiling above him when he spoke. Meeting Dave's eye was far too intense. "Well, the Higher Power is unpredictable," he started. "Worst case?" Dave nodded. "You could lose your connection to the living forever. We all could."

"Lose my con. . ." Dave started, a furious anxiety building in his gut. "What the fuck does that mean?"

Clearing his throat, Eddie squared his shoulders. He, of all people, had known the risks involved with interfering in the lives of the living. But seeing his friend's determination, his desire to right the wrongs he had inflicted on his wife in life, had been too hard to pass up. He had given in to the temptation. And they all deserved the punishment that they would receive for their sins.

"It means you won't be able to watch Courtney, or anyone else you loved or knew when you were alive. Your platform will be taken, and your connection will be severed."

For an instant, Dave could have sworn his dead heart dropped in his chest. But he didn't have time to stand around and worry or cry. There was only one thing he could think to do. "When did she leave?"

"Twenty minutes ago," Eddie said, reaching a hand out to Dave's arm. "But Dave," he started.

Dave ripped free and gave his friend a stare that said he wasn't about to listen to reason. "Save it, Eddie," he warned, quickening his pace as he walked away. "I've gotta stop her."

He ran like a man on a mission. If Trish succeeded, he would lose everything. It didn't matter if Courtney was happy if he couldn't see it. It didn't matter if she lived happily ever after if he never got a chance to look at her beautiful smile again.

He was once told that this place, the Great Beyond, was neither heaven nor hell. But without his connection to Courtney, it was unadulterated torture. Endless days without seeing her, without knowing what she was doing, would kill him all over again.

As he neared the corridor of the Higher Power, he did not stop to think about what he was doing. Barging into that chamber surely had consequences, but Dave didn't care. If he could just prove his motivation, if he could make the Higher Power see that everything he had done had been out of love for his wife, surely he wouldn't be cut off completely.

He was about to burst through the door when it swung open and a sullen-looking Trish emerged, her head bent as she walked past him and in the direction of her room.

"Tell me you didn't fuck this all up," Dave shouted at her retreating form.

She turned slowly, lifting her head to meet his eyes with a sorrowful expression. "It's over, David."


	38. Are you fucking kidding?

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: Alright, so I kinda miscalculated. After this chapter, there will be at least six more chapters of Angel Dust, maybe seven. Things are ramping up to the big finish, but I don't want to rush anything. So as long as y'all are still interested, I'ma still jot it down and put it out there for ya. Keep the reviews comin' in - I love 'em. Enjoy!

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"Courtney, where is your fiancee?" Alissa asked, rushing over to her daughter in the midst of hundreds of guests.

If she had her way, Courtney would be celebrating her engagement with her parents, her fiancee, and no one else. She didn't need another huge party to announce to the world that she was marrying. The first engagement party had been headache enough.

_"I swear to God, David, if you fuck this night up," Courtney muttered under her breath as she rode the elevator from the ball room to the fourth floor of the suite she was sharing with Dave._

_They had been in New York for all of three hours, prepping for their engagement party, and now with the guests beginning to arrive, her fiancee was nowhere to be found. _

_She could pretend she didn't know exactly where he was, but the truth was inevitable. As the elevator dinged, she just prayed he was still conscious. As she slid her key into the door, a sense of relief flooded her as she heard his rumbling laughter from inside the room._

_"Dave," she started and then stopped as she surveyed the inhabitants of the room. _

_"Hey, Princess," Dave smiled widely, extending his arm for his soon-to-be wife to join him. _

_As Courtney walked toward him, she glowered at the men. Randy looked uncomfortable, sitting next to the window, his left ankle resting on his right knee. He was smiling on the outside, but his eyes said he would rather be anywhere else. And the man she only knew as Booker T was snorting a line from the mirror on the coffee table._

_The man had been Dave's dealer for as long as she had known him. She had met with him in one too many dark alleys to trust him any further than she could throw him. There was a slight smile on her lips, though, when she walked closer and saw that his right eye was swollen. Dave had told her, during the car ride to the city, that Booker had tried to rip him off and that they had fought. Clearly, her husband had been the winner._

_Lowering herself into his lap, Courtney wrapped her arms around Dave's neck and kissed his cheek. "The guests are beginning to arrive, Lover," she whispered in his ear._

_He groaned and turned his face, kissing her deeply. Through his shirt, she could feel his heart pounding, and she knew it wasn't because he was holding her close. When he pulled back from the kiss, his eyes were heavily lidded and he was grinning like a fool. _

_"Dave, man," Booker grunted as he snorted and then sniffled. "When you gonna share that fine piece with a brother?" He looked Courtney over and winked at her._

_Her body stiffened as Dave stood and wrapped his fingers around hers tightly. "Motherfucker, you even look at my wife again, and I'll swell your other eye up, too," he growled, leading Courtney from the room._

_"I don't like that guy," she stated as they stepped into the hall._

_Dave nodded and stepped into the elevator behind Courtney, pulling her against his chest as the doors closed. "I don't really like him, either, Princess," he admitted. "But he knows where to get the best shit. You can't just turn your back on that."_

_Courtney sighed and rested in her husband's embrace as the elevator decended. _

She had known, even then, that they would not have a long life together. She only wished that she had known how soon it would all end.

But she wouldn't think of Dave. Not today. At least not with the quiet longing with which his memory had been creeping into her heart as of late. Today was about Randy. It was about a new beginning. It signified the start of a new life with a new man. One who was good for her family, good for her. It was about heading down the path toward her dreams, the ones she'd had when she was just a little girl.

Of course, she had to find him first.

Wandering through the halls of the illustrious Four Seasons hotel, Courtney bit her lip and tried to imagine where Randy could be. She had seen him talking with several people over the course of the night, but he had barely left her side. It only figured that the minute he left, her mother would want to take some big, happy family pictures.

She walked to the end of the hall and was about to start up toward their room when she heard hushed voices from a nearby ball room. Walking to the door, she peered through the crack, only to see Randy lower himself into a chair across from two other men. Two men she knew very well.

"What's goin' on, Kurt?" Randy's deep voice filled the air as Washington DC's lead homicide investigator, Kurt Angle, stuck his hands in the pockets of his dress pants and shifted his weight uncomfortably. "I kinda need to get back to my wife," Randy added.

The obvious tension in the air told Courtney that this was a private meeting and that she should go back to the party. It was probably just something having to do with one of Randy's upcoming segments. But no matter how much she told herself to relax, her body just wouldn't leave.

"You remember a man by the name of Booker T?" Kurt asked Randy, sitting in another chair beside the young man he had come to know so well.

Randy's dark head nodded. "He was Dave's dealer. I met with him a few times. To pick up shit for Dave." When Kurt and his partner, a younger cop named Charlie Haas, nodded, Randy straightened in his chair. "What's goin' on, Kurt?"

Even though his tone was suspicious, Courtney didn't allow herself to worry. Maybe Kurt had a tip for Randy. Maybe it was nothing. She moved to the other side of the doorway, trying to catch a glimpse of Randy's face. But his back was turned to the door and all she could see was his muscular shoulders, and an occasional ear when he turned his head.

"The feds picked Booker up on some pretty serious racketeering charges last week, Randy. He's been dealin' to some pretty big players for a long time," Kurt explained. "Now that his back's against the wall, and he's facin' 25 to life, he's singin' like a canary."

"And?" Randy's tone was still confused. "Look, man, if there's a story in this somewhere, I'm grateful for the tip, but this is my engagement party. I mean, I'd be happy to sit down with you for dinner sometime this week, maybe talk about the particulars? But for now," he started to stand.

But Kurt crossed his arms, his blue eyes deep with concern. "He's naming you."

Randy laughed. "Me? What the fuck for?"

Courtney leaned against the wall, the confusion in her face mirroring the sound of Randy's voice. What the hell was going on? Dave's dealer was naming names? Randy's name? For what? What could squeaky-clean Choir Boy possibly have done that would warrant a visit from DC's finest?

"You ever heard of Fentanyl, Randy?" Charlie asked, reading something out of his notebook.

"Of course," Randy answered, pacing slightly, one hand on his hip while the other stroked his chin. "I did an expose on it back in the day," he recalled. "One of my first stories."

Charlie looked up, his face echoing none of the same concern Kurt's did. Obviously, the younger of the two detectives was not giving him the benefit of the doubt. "Then you know how extremely deadly it can be? 80,000 times more potent than morphine? Similar effects to heroine?" Randy nodded. "And do you also know that lacing it with cocaine can be deadly?"

Courtney's brow furrowed. What the fuck was going on?

Randy leaned against the chair, his back still to the door. His shoulders were tense, and she could only imagine the icy look he was shooting at the young detective. "Why don't you get to the fucking point, Haas," he stated coolly.

Sensing a potentially explosive situation, Kurt stood and put a hand out to Charlie, signalling that he would handle it. "Randy, Booker is claiming that he sold you three potent doses of Fentanyl the night before Dave died."

If she had wanted to run away, Courtney knew she couldn't. Her stomach was lurching, and if she moved, she would surely vomit all off the floor. Surely they weren't implying what she thought they were.

"Why exactly are you here, Kurt? Honestly?" Randy asked incredulously, laughing slightly. "Dude, I'm sorry," he shook his head when Charlie put his hands on his hips. "But come on. What you're suggesting? That's pretty fuckin' lame," he said, his head tilted slightly in amusement.

"The other leads he's given us have been pretty accurate, Randy," Kurt stated, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Well this one's not," Randy insisted. "Dave wasn't just my boss, he was my best friend. There is absolutely no reason I would want him dead. So until you have something a little more concrete than the accusations of a burnt out coke dealer? I'll thank you gentlemen to see yourselves out of my party."

When he turned to leave the room, Courtney willed herself to hide in the next conference room. What they had just accused Randy of was the unthinkable. It was impossible. Randy had said it himself. There was absolutely no reason he would want Dave dead. He stood to gain nothing from killing Dave. It was ludicrous.

Smoothing her hair around her shoulders, Courtney shook her head and took a deep breath. This was no time to freak out. Obviously there had been a misunderstanding. She had a party to attend, a wedding to plan, and a campaign to launch. She simply didn't have time for a scandal.


	39. A Slight Mix Up

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: Just a quick note today - the news story that I reference in this chapter is an actual story that I read this week here in Michigan. It's been on my mind a lot, so I decided to incorporate it - I just thought I should disclaim that not even the Queen could come up with something so completely unthinkable! Anywho - thanks to everyone who is still reading this story. I know it's a lot longer than some of my other works, and I appreciate the fact that you've stuck with it all this time. Your reviews mean everything to me - so thank you for taking the time to send them my way! You guys are the best. Enjoy!**

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"Um, no, that's fine," Courtney sighed into the phone as she leaned back on the couch with a hand on her forehead. "Just collect the poll results from all five barrios and then you can head home to your husband and your beautiful baby for the night," she assured her eager assistant, Ashley Massarro. "Oh, and Ash? Tell Carlito I said "hi," okay?"

As Courtney clicked her phone shut, she looked at the computer screen on her coffee table and let out a huge sigh, nudging it with her foot as she pouted. She had seen first-hand with her father how tough being a senator could be. But trying to be one was even harder. Especially with a rival pundit who was determined to sling every bit of mud he could find on the former Mrs. Batista.

The front door opened before she could actually kick the laptop from the table and she turned to see Randy, two large paper bags in hand, beaming at her. "I've got way too much Chinese for two people, and an entire night to help you," he announced, moving quickly to the couch and dropping a kiss on her forehead before moving around the living room and setting the bags on the table. Loosening his tie, he dropped into his recliner. "So, what can I do, Senator?"

Courtney raised an eyebrow and couldn't help smiling. For a few days after the engagement party, she had been plagued by questions. Of course, she couldn't ask Randy point blank if he had murdered Dave, so she had suffered with them alone. Until days turned into weeks, and she hadn't heard another word about Booker T and his outrageous allegations. With her time increasingly consumed with campaigning and wedding planning, Courtney had been able to push the suspicions to the most remote corner of her mind without much effort.

"So," she said as she slid from the couch onto the floor and dipped a pair of chopsticks into a carton of Moo Shoo, "What brings you home so early?"

Randy also sat on the floor, tearing open a crab rangoon as he smiled at his fiancee. "Lashley and I are heading to Detroit at eight in the morning. I have successfully delegated everything on my desk for the next couple of days."

She nodded as they continued to discuss the story that Randy was chasing. It was Lashley's first production, and Randy had to be there to help him navigate the tricky waters of a virgin project. When she had first read the story, she had known that Randy would want to cover it.

The tale of two women, one dead and the other in a coma, their identies confused by the responding emergency personnel, had immediately drawn the opportunistic Randy in to it's web. There was something for everyone, whether it be emotional or political, and he couldn't wait to be the first to capitalize on the ratings gem. While one family buried their daughter, the other sat by their child's bedside, praying for her quick recovery. Five weeks after the accident, long after a funeral, and weeks of intensive surgery and therapy, the living girl was able to speak, only to reveal that she was not the daughter of the family holding vigil over her bed. She was the one they believed to be dead.

A brief lull in the discussion left Courtney thinking over the entire situation. "Ya know, I still can't wrap my head around it," she shook her head and looked at Randy thoughtfully. "How do you accidentally tell someone that their child is dead?"

Randy shrugged. It was a great story, and one that would do wonders for Lashley's career, and his own. But there was something deeper swimming around his head. "I don't know," he sighed. "I just can't even begin to imagine how the other family must be feeling. All that time, hoping and praying for recovery, never knowing that it's way past too late."

Though they were only a couple of months away from walking down the aisle, Courtney knew she couldn't honestly say that her relationship with Randy was any better than it had ever been. They still talked, still fucked plenty, and still attended events together. But sometimes she forgot that he was still Orton. He was still the man who had stayed up with her at night while they waited out one of Dave's near OD's. He was still the one that made her feel like things would work themselves out, even if the world seemed dark and lonely for the moment.

"I have a confession," she whispered, setting her take-out carton on the table and resting her elbows beside it. How did she tell this man, the one who adored her and wanted to give her a happy life, that she couldn't stop thinking about her dead husband? That planning her second wedding had only served to amplify thoughts of her first?

Randy sat his food down and leaned back against the chair. His blue eyes held Courtney's with deep sincerity. "You spent the day wishing someone would tell you it was all a mistake? That something got mixed up at the Coroner's office and that Dave's still alive?"

Biting her lip, Courtney lowered her eyes. She felt guilty enough for not giving herself over to Randy completely. The fact that he knew what she was doing only twisted the knife. "I don't want to feel like this. I want to move forward, into a world with you," she gave him a half-smile of reassurance before taking a deep breath. "But every time I feel like I've started to move in that direction, something completely random reminds me that this is a world without Dave."

He reached across the coffee table and rested his hand on hers. "I thought the same thing today," he admitted, smiling when Courtney shot him a surprised look. "Dave and I had our disagreements. There were things that we would never see eye-to-eye on," he said, his thumb rubbing softly over the palm of her hand. "But he was my best friend. And if I could bring him back. . . "

"I love you."

Randy stopped speaking and looked at her, as if frozen. They had been together for a year, engaged for almost three months, and she had yet to say the words. He had convinced himself that he didn't need to hear them. He told himself that he could convince her that he was right for her in time. He didn't have to be perfect for her; he would settle for good enough.

Courtney Lane had always been known for choosing her words carefully. She was known as the woman who could tell someone to go to hell and make him anticipate the journey. She was tactful and graceful. But she never said anything she didn't mean. So if she was telling Randy that she loved him, he knew better than to doubt it.

Pulling himself up off the floor, Randy flopped onto the couch and reached for Courtney's hand. "Come here," he smiled.

She pushed the coffee table back a few inches and turned, laying her body on top of Randy's on the couch. She did love him. She loved him for never losing faith in her, for never giving up on the woman she could be. She loved him for all of the selfless nights he had foregone torrid affairs with eligible bachelorettes to help her clean vomit off the bathroom floor. She loved him for saving her from her own lonely self a year ago. And she loved him for trying his best to give her the life he believed she deserved.

"Court?" Randy's low rumble interrupted her thoughts. She mumbled something as she rested her head on his chest and let her eyes drift shut. "I don't want to push my boundaries here, but I was thinking about something today. What if we scrap the idea of a big wedding blowout and just fly our parents to Stintino? Get married at the villa?"

Courtney's eyes shot open as she sat up and stared at him in awe. "Are you kidding?"

Feeling slightly nervous and wondering if he had said the wrong thing, Randy leaned against the arm of the couch and shrugged. "I know you've been working really hard on planning this wedding, and I don't want you to feel like I don't appreciate that, or that you've wasted your time. And I know that Dave bought you the house in Italy, and I really don't ever want you to feel like I'm trying to replace him." He took a deep breath and shrugged. "I don't know. I just thought maybe it would make you a little more comfortable or something."

There were tiny tears pricking the back of Courtney's eyes as she watched him bumble through his explanation. For the first time in their relationship, she felt a deep, unbreakable connection to Randy Orton. She felt like he understood her, like he was hearing everything she hadn't had the nerve to say in the last year. "Randy," she giggled, lunging forward and attacking his lips.

His hands ran up and down her back, pulling her closer to him as they continued to explore each other's mouths with their tongues. Breathing was heavy and Courtney was in the process of wrestling with Randy's belt when there was a knock at the door.

Sitting, she shovelled a handful of blonde hair from her face. "You expecting company?"

Randy rolled his eyes and stood from the couch, straightening his dress shirt and smoothing out his pants. "My mom said she might drop some theater tickets off tonight," he shrugged. "I'll get rid of her fast, baby."

With a wink, he walked to the door as Courtney raked her fingers through her hair and watched the muscles in his back as he took a deep breath and tried to collect himself to face his mother. She couldn't help the little flutter in her tummy as she realized something. At one time, Randy had been her closest connection to the man she really wanted to be with. He had been her only link to the real Dave. But he had managed to become the man she really wanted to be with himself.

"Kurt," Randy stepped back in shock as he opened the door to a burdened Kurt Angle and a smug Charlie Haas. "What brings you gentlemen to the city?"

Shaking his head sadly, Kurt produced a pair of handcuffs from his jacket. "Randy Orton, you are under arrest for the murder of Dave Batista. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can, and will, be held against you in a court of law," Charlie quoted as his partner cuffed the young man.

Courtney watched in horror as Randy calmly accepted the words that were being spewed at him. Her body was numb, and even if she had tried, she wouldn't have been able to read the expression on his face. It was as if her life was suddenly moving in slow motion as her mind went completely blank.

"Courtney, Sweetheart," Randy spoke in an even, authoritative tone. "Call my father. And Shane," he ordered. She nodded as she watched his lips moving, but could barely process what he was saying. "And baby?" When she met his gaze with an empty one of her own, Randy smiled slightly. "Don't worry. It's a misunderstanding, okay?" She nodded. "I love you."

Without a struggle, he asked Kurt to shut the apartment door and then walked down the hall between the two detectives. Pulling her knees to her chest like a scared child hiding in the closet, Courtney buried her face and wished that she could wake up. She blinked her eyes and licked her lips, tasting the tears she hadn't even realized had fallen over her cheeks.

Another husband. Whether or not Randy had killed Dave was up for debate. But one fact was inevitable. She had brought another scandal into the Lane family, and her father was going to kill her.


	40. Teetering on the Edge

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: Thank you all for your undying support of this story. I know that I've taken you on a wacky roller coaster of emotions, and I'm not done yet. In the final few chapters, more secrets will be revealed. And don't worry - I haven't forgotten Dave. Chapter 44 will be the one you've all been waiting for - whether you know you've been waiting or not. I promise, it's worth it. So hang with me - it's just starting to get good. Enjoy!**

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Though she knew there was never a good time to have her fiancee arrested for killing her husband, Courtney quickly found out that there was definitely a worst time. She had experienced invasive media for the better part of her life, but nothing could have prepared her for the onslaught that Randy's arrest brought in the midst of her Senate campaign.

After a week of ominous silence from her parents, she drove to DC in attempt to smooth things over before they got out of control. They had been hard on her at times, pushed her harder than she wanted to be pushed, but if there was one thing she could say for Sean and Alissa Lane, it was that they had always been supportive of Courtney's ambitions.

It was mid-afternoon when she arrived at the estate, and her hands trembled as she pushed the front door open and let herself into the emaculate entryway. "Hello?" she called out into the silence.

Dressed in designer pant suit, her hair perfectly coiffed, Alissa appeared seemingly out of nowhere. "Courtney," she said, her face registering slight shock.

"Hi mom," she said softly. Lifting the covered plate in her hand, she smiled shyly. "I brought cookies." Alissa graciously accepted the offering, though her face said she was skeptical. "What can I say?" she shrugged. "I've had some trouble sleeping."

Nodding, Alissa turned for the kitchen. "Well, you're not the only one," she answered as she sat the cookies on the island and leaned her hip against the stove.

"Is he home?" Courtney asked.

"He's in a meeting," Alissa nodded over her shoulder, her blonde hair remaining perfectly still in the tight updo she was sporting.

Relaxing slightly, Courtney leaned her weight on the island and let out a breath. "How angry is he?"

"He's not pleased, Courtney," her mother admitted, sighing slightly. "But he knows that you had nothing to do with this."

For the first time since her arrival, Courtney sensed a touch of sympathy in her mother's tone. "I'm confused, Mom," she admitted.

Nodding, Alissa took a glass from the cabinet above her head and moved to the refrigerator. "It's a lot to process," she agreed.

"I just," Courtney started, unsure of where to start. For a brief moment, as she watched her mother fill a glass with sparkling water from a pitcher in the refrigerator, she remembered a time when life was a little easier. Together, they had planned her first wedding at this very kitchen island. "I don't know."

Alissa sipped from her glass, watching her daughter with a critical eye. It was obvious that Courtney was over-stressed and under-rested. The dark circles under her eyes testified to the toll this ordeal was taking on Alissa's only daughter, and her heart went out to the little girl she had watched carelessly run though the house once upon a time, a baby doll in one hand and a gavel in the other.

Finally, Courtney raised her eyes to meet her mother's gaze. "Randy is not a killer, Mom."

Setting her glass on the counter, Alissa crossed her arms. "Sweetheart, your father and I have been friends with Vince and Linda for a very long time," she mentioned the Washington District Attorney who had filed the charges, and his wife. "He is not the kind of man who acts without thinking. He is not easily swayed by public opinion. And he would not file charges of this severity, especially against someone of Randy's reputation, without solid evidence."

It was as if all of the air in Courtney's lungs escaped at the sound of her mother's words. "So you think he's guilty?"

The look in her mother's eyes was indiscernable. "I think you need to seriously consider what being engaged to Randy means for your campaign."

Before Courtney could demand that her mother think of something other than politics for a moment, deep voices filled the afternoon stillness. "I'll have my secretary set up a tee time for Thursday," Sean was heard just before he entered the kitchen.

If she had been breathless at her mother's comment, her father's "meeting" made her downright ill. She had known Hunter Helmsley for nearly 20 years. She was only 10 when her father was appointed presiding judge over Vermont's 2nd District Court. Hunter had been the Assistant District Attorney - 27, fresh out of law school and hungry for justice.

There was a time when she had fostered a slight crush on him, in her mid-teens, but now that he was her mud-slinging opponent in the Senate Race for New York, she was less than thrilled with his over-confident aura. Not to mention suspicious of his reasons for golfing with her father.

"Thanks, Sean. I appreciate this," he was saying as he followed her father into the room, a small smile tweaking his lips when he saw her at the counter. "Alissa," he addressed her mother with a warm grin and a handshake. "Thank you for the coffee."

"Any time, Hunter," Alissa responded with a grin.

He turned to Courtney and smiled again. It wasn't the vicious smile of an arrogant competitor, but the sweet smile he had always given her when he had joined her family for dinner. She remembered her father calling him the son he had never had. "Courtney," he breathed her name. "Hi."

There was something in his eyes, something that was different than the sly looks he had been giving her at debates. His voice defied the sneer she had heard over the phone so many times in recent months. "Hello, Hunter," she answered flatly. Maybe he could put business aside, but she wasn't sure she could. She wasn't a 16-year-old with a crush anymore.

"Corabeth," her father adressed her for the first time. "There is no need to be so cold to our guest." He patted Hunter on the back as he gave his daughter a stern look.

But Hunter held up a hand, his eyes never leaving Courtney. "Please, Sean, it's fine. It's not exactly the time for Courtney and I to be friends."

Sean wasn't buying it, though. "Courtney understands that campaigns and political races are merely business transactions, Hunter."

"Sure," she nodded, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "After this whole election thing is over, maybe we can forget the way you've dragged me all to hell and get together for drinks."

Alissa stepped forward in that moment, a horrified look on her face. "Hunter, I am so sorry," she began to apologize.

But Hunter shook his head and turned his understanding smile to the woman at his side. "No, Alissa, it's fine," he assured her. "Courtney is focused on her campaign, and her opposition. It's not only understandable," he nodded, "It's admirable."

The look in his eyes mirrored his words, but Courtney couldn't bring herself to be flattered by his compliment. Every hurtful theory and story about Dave's death, every painful part of his demise, had been rehashed by the man standing before her. Everything she had managed to avoid in Italy came to life before her eyes when Hunter began his smear tactics, and she couldn't respect or appreciate him.

"I'll walk you out," Sean offered, ushering his young protege out of the room.

"What the hell was that?" Alissa whispered harshly as the men left.

Courtney's eyes grew wide. "He's my opponent!" she defended a little too loudly. She wasn't sure if it was her mother's question that had shocked her, or the fact that she had never, in 28 years, heard Alissa Lane mutter anything remotely resembling profanity.

"This is not the campaign trail, Courtney Elizabeth," her mother scolded her as though she were a disrespectful child. "This is my kitchen. And in my home we treat guests with respect. I raised you better than that little display you just pulled."

Rolling her eyes, Courtney rested her hands on her hips. "Well I'm sorry for not shaking hands and making nice with the man who smugly told the world I suffer from Marital Misjudgement!"

"You have to admit, Corabeth," Sean stated, re-entering the room with his family. "You haven't exactly," he began.

But Courtney put a hand up. It was too much. Coming here was a mistake. The accusations in their eyes was the last straw in an already broken situation. "NO!" she insisted loudly. "I have enough stress right now and I did not come here to be," she started.

"Do NOT," Sean jumped in, his voice slightly louder, and much more authoritative, than Courtney's had been, "come into my home and raise your voice as though we were your campaign staff."

Fire blazed in both of their eyes as Alissa stepped between the angry father and daughter. "Courtney," she stated in an even tone as she rested a hand on Sean's chest, as if to calm him. "Your father and I understand that this is a difficult time for you. And we know that you have some difficult decisions to make."

Courtney's glare never left her father. "Difficult decisions?"

With the roll of his eyes, Sean crossed his arms and looked at his daughter with an expression that said he couldn't believe she was being so childish. "You are lagging in the polls, Courtney. Hunter leads you by a considerable margain, and while there is no guaruntee that calling off the wedding will begin to heal your reputation," he started.

Again, Courtney interrupted, shaking her head. "Wait a minute," she said, holding up a hand. "Who said I was calling off the engagement?"

"Why wouldn't you?" Sean asked, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You can't seriously tell us that you intend to continue pursuing a seat in the United States Senate while engaged to a alleged murderer," he smiled at the ludicrous thought.

"Randy says that this is a misunderstanding," she started. Courtney couldn't say, with one hundred percent assurance, that she believed in Randy's innocence. But she also knew that she didn't believe in his guilt, either. "And until I see damning evidence, I have to believe him."

Sean laughed and shook his head. "No, you don't," he told her. "Don't give me that fairy tale "I love him" bull shit. We had this discussion once. It ended with you walking down the aisle and marrying a man you knew had a cocaine habit. Now you're talking about marrying one who very well could be a murder? What the hell is next, Courtney?" He didn't give her time to answer as he rested a hand on his forehead. "You are smarter than this. Stop thinking with whatever it is that attracts you to these men and start thinking like a Lane, dammit!"

Not for the first time in her life, Courtney felt like she must have shrunk to a height of three feet. She had watched father cut an opponent down to nothing with his harsh words and even more condescending tone. But it never hurt as badly as hearing the words herself. "Why can't you just support me?" she asked weakly.

"Oh, don't start pouting now, Courtney," Alissa finally spoke. Though her voice was low, she knew her daughter heard her when she turned shocked eyes to her mother. "What? You want me to tell your father to lay off? That he should go easy on you? That he should remember the little girl who used to climb into his lap and watch Patriots games on Sunday afternoons?

"I can't do that," she shrugged. "You're not that girl anymore. You're a grown woman. One who has proven, time and again, that she is not capable of making smart decisions, especially when it comes to what you perceive as love. Why should the people of New York let you make decisions for them, Courtney, when you can't make them for yourself?"

Pushing off the counter, she steeled herself with a strength she didn't know she possessed. "All I want is for you to support me. To acknowledge that I have the right, and the ability, to think for myself. Yes, I've made some questionable choices, but they have all been with the intent of doing what is right. What I need right now is for both of you to see that."

She waited with stiff shoulders as her parents shared a furtive look. There was something Courtney didn't know, and while she wanted them to share the secret, she feared the ramifications of whatever revelation they were hiding. Her foot began to tap impatiently on the floor as she waited out the silence, unwilling to open herself any further to them.

When Sean opened his mouth to speak, Alissa stared hard at the floor. She may have been sure of the words she had spoken, but she was equally sure that she didn't want to see the heartbreak in her only child's eyes.

"I'm financially supporting Hunter's campaign," he informed. As she had been so well-trained to do, Courtney masked any emotion with a blank stare that resisted any emotion. "I will publicly profess my support of you, as I have all along. The public needs to see me as that father, and that's what I will give them. But I can't privately back you as the next Senator of New York, Courtney. I can't, in good conscience, give you something you have not earned."

"If you can't support me here, out of the public eye," Courtney hissed through clenched teeth, "Then I don't want you behind me when they're looking, either." Though she refused to crack, to let the tears fall, the pain was evident in her voice as her only support system slipped from her.

Alissa took a step forward. She was torn between being the mother of a hurting and somewhat wayward child, and the wife of a well-respected Senator. She loved her family, but that family was broken now, and she had to choose a side. "Courtney, I want to give you everything that you just said you wanted. The support and the trust," she started, her heart breaking as her daughter put up another wall of defense.

"I'm your mother, and I want to see you happy and successful. But I'm your father's wife, and I took a vow to stand beside him, too," she tried to explain. "As long as your worlds intersect, I can't be in both of your corners." Reaching out, she rested her hand on Courtney's arm. "I'm willing to compromise, however."

Raising an eyebrow, Courtney looked into the eyes of the woman who had bandaged her scrapes and kissed her bruises so many times in the past. "Compromise? What's that mean? You'll be proud of me if I do whatever you say?"

Alissa shook her head. "There is no shame, Courtney, in surrendering to avoid slaughter," she advised. "You can go down with the ship, Sweetheart, and possibly ruin any further chance of ever mounting a successful campaign in the future. Or you can withdraw now, take some time off to accomplish positive things that will overshadow past indescretions, and come out swinging again in five or ten years, with a professional reputation that exceeds anything happening in your personal life."

Though she wouldn't admit that her mother was right, Courtney knew that there was valid arguments to Alissa's statement. She hadn't been Sean Lane's campaign manager for 30 years without learning a thing or two about the business of politics.

"I have to get back to the city," Courtney whispered, taking her purse from the counter and heading for the door.

She had vehemently defended against everything her parents had said. But inside, she knew they had a point. How was she supposed to represent millions of people's best interest when she couldn't even figure out her own?

As she made her way to the car, she flipped her phone open and dialed quickly. "Remember that ledge you offered to talk me off of?" she asked as she started the car and headed out of the circular drive. "I'm teetering on the edge of it right now."


	41. Sacrifice

**Angel Dust

* * *

**

"You're going to be all over the tabloids tomorrow," Courtney informed John as she pushed the door of her home closed, blatantly ignoring the flashbulbs piercings the midnight darkness. "Heading into the home of a former girlfriend while her faithful, albeit possibly murderous, fiancee sits in jail awaiting trial?" Shaking her head, she smiled slightly. "What will people think?"

John rolled his eyes and plopped his large frame into Randy's leather recliner. "That I'm a lucky son of a bitch?" He smiled and winked at Courtney. "I mean, who wouldn't want a midnight booty call from the deliciously sexy Courtney Lane?"

After a brief moment of knowing silence, Courtney lifted a mug of espresso to her lips and tucked her hair behind her ears. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

"Baby, I told you," John leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, "You need me, I'm here. That's how it's always been. Ain't nothin' gonna change that." Moving from the chair, he sat opposite his ex-girlfriend on the couch and made himself comfortable. "So, other than the obvious, what's goin' on?"

Sighing, Courtney gripped her coffee mug tighter and tried to figure out where she should start. "I'm thinking of withdrawing from the race," she whispered. John just nodded. "You're not gonna ask why?"

The smile he gave her was familiar. It was the same one he had always given her when she asked him a stupid question. "I may be a meatheaded football player, Courtney, but I'm not _technically_ mentally retarded," he reminded. "My only question is what's holding you back?"

"Being a Senator is the only thing I've ever really wanted," she defended. "It's hard to just walk away from a dream, to admit that you hungered for something for so long, and that you failed to achieve it."

Locking his hands behind his head, John leaned back slightly and considered the woman before him. At 28, she was still as beautiful as she had been in high school. She had seen more in the last ten years than most people saw in a lifetime, and yet she maintained the appearance of perfection. But the trained eye, one who had examined her so closely on so many occassions, saw the finely forming lines in her armor, the cracks in the damn that were threatening to give at any moment.

He took a deep breath and offered her a friendly smile before speaking. "When did you know you wanted to be a Senator?"

She thought about the question for a moment, biting her lip as she recalled the exact moment. "When I was 11 and my dad started talking about it. By the time he got elected, after I had watched the whole process unfold, I knew I wanted to do that someday."

"I knew I wanted to be a professional football player when I was nine. After I moved in with my family," he spoke with a fond smile, as though the memories were playing on the movie screen in his mind, "I told my dad that I wanted to be a linebacker. He said I needed a back up, but I told him I couldn't think of anything else I wanted more than that. Or even half as much.

"We started working out together, and he bought me all these magazines. I read everything I could on pro ball players - work out routines, diets, colleges, coaches, football camps. You remember our first date? When we went to dinner?"

Courtney chuckled at the memory. "I remember asking you why you were eating like a girl," she answered, thinking back to his plate of smoked salmon and the dainty bowl of mixed greens he ate.

"That was my kick at the time," he nodded.

"Because that's what The Moose ate on Fridays," she recalled, shaking her head.

But John only nodded in agreement. "He was the man back in the day. And if that's what a Pro-Bowl linebacker ate on Fridays, that's what I ate." Noting that she was starting to look a bit confused, John shook his head. "The point, Courtney, is that ever since I decided this is what I wanted to do with my life, it's what I've been working toward. It's what I dream about, concentrate on, work toward.

"There were times in high school when I thought I might throw up if I drank one more glass of raw eggs. In high school, I hated Mr. Fitzpatrick's boring as hell French class. I can't even tell you how many parties I skipped in college that I really wanted to go to. Even the whole relationship thing kinda got put on the back burner.

"The egg thing I can't really explain - it was a dumbass thing I saw in a movie or whatever," he smiled with a shrug. "But the other stuff, it all had a purpose. I had to have a foreign language on my transcript to get a full ride scholarship to Syracuse, so I suffered through French. I passed on parties to focus on my game. Even you, Courtney."

Though she had been listening, Courtney stared at the espresso in her cup as John spoke. When he stopped, she raised her eyes. "What about me, John?"

He nudged her foot with his before going on. "Correct me if I'm just being cocky, but part of the reason you broke up with me was because I didn't make nearly enough trips down to Columbia to visit you, right?" She shrugged. "And maybe, just maybe, if I had agreed to put a little more work into our relationship, I could have changed your mind back then?"

"It was more complicated than that," she insisted, though she couldn't quite stop the slight pout forming on her lips when she denied the accusation.

"Maybe," he conceded. "But I've always known that a real relationship, like the one you wanted even back then, was going to distract, even just a little, from my game. You always told me that I centered my life around a game, and you were right. I did. Because it was the only future I ever truly believed was right for me."

There was a long silence as she processed his little trip down memory lane. "So what you're saying," she finally said, "is that if I had really wanted to be a Senator my whole life, I would have sacrificed the things that stood in the way of that dream, even back when I was dating Dave. That I would have never married someone with a potentially scandalous drug habit if I really wanted to acheive the goal I said I wanted to acheive?"

He tapped his nose and nodded in her direction. "That's what I love about you, Courtney. I don't have to spell shit out for you." He nudged her leg again. "You're so much smarter than the other bimbos I date."

She gave him a playful smirk and then sat her coffee mug on the table. "So what do I really want?" she asked him. "Since you're so good with the advice and the reading me and whatnot."

Normally, John would just give her "the look" and tell her she already knew. But he could tell from the look in her eye that she really didn't. "Love," he answered without hesitation.

"Please," she rolled her eyes and sank back on the couch. "You're telling me that you see me as one of those hopelessly romantic girls with dillusions of a white knight with a big horse?" A small chuckle escaped her lips. "I know you know me better than that."

"Alright, then try this," John responded with a challenging grin. "You, Courtney Lane, are a truth junkie. That's why you love politics and justice - you love examining an issue, finding the truth in it, and making sure that policy revolves around that truth. I would assume it's the same reason you're drawn to news journalists - because they have the same hunger for exposing the truth.

"Ultimately, this is what I think about you," he deduced, leaning forward again and taking her hand from her knee. "I think what you really want out of life is someone you trust completely. At the end of the day, you want complete trust and confidence in the arms you fall into."

An emotion Courtney couldn't identify swelled in her chest. John's blue eyes pierced through to her soul and she felt as though the weight of the world was bearing down on her. John was right. "I want the truth," she repeated.

Sensing that there was more to her words, John asked pointedly, "Have you asked him?"

She shook her head. "I can't," she insisted. "I can't just walk in there, sit my ass down, and be like "Randy, did you kill my husband?" I can't do it."

"If you want it, Court," John advised wisely, "You do whatever you can to get it. It's not gonna always be easy, for sure. You want to believe that Randy's innocent, and I hope that he is. I mean, we may not have been best friends back in the day, but I don't want to think that he's a cold-blooded killer." He smiled warmly and gripped her hand tighter. "Ask him."

She nodded as she and John began to discuss less morbid happenings in his life. He was right this time, just as he always had been. Though it would be awkard and uncomfortable, she had to ask Randy if he had killed Dave. She had to know the truth. And she had to know it before the trial began in three days.


	42. The Truth

**Angel Dust

* * *

**

Courtney clutched her bag close to her side as the prison guard ushered her into a private conference room. She had been to visit Randy on one other occasion, with his lawyer, Shane, at her side. Her father had advised that she not go alone, that prison was far too unseemly a place for a woman of her stature, and that the paparrazi would have a field day if she made multiple visits.

But she didn't care about the paparrazi anymore. She had only one reason for visiting the Washington D.C. maximum security prison. The truth. She had to know the truth.

Not for the first time, she thanked fate for allowing her to be born a Lane. Using her family status, she had obtained a visitor's pass for an after hours meeting with her fiancee. And the private conference room insured that she and Randy would be free to discuss anything without fear of the wrong ears overhearing.

As she stepped through the door, she breathed deeply and surveyed the room. For some reason, it had seemed a lot less daunting when Shane was with her. Now it was just an empty room with a table, cold and intimidating. The walls seem to chuckle at an inside joke she to which she would never be privvy.

Courtney had barely lowered herself to the chair when a buzzer sounded above the opposite door. "You got thirty minutes, Orton," the guard's voice was heard from the other side just before the steel door swung open.

Randy, shackled in wrist and ankle chains, moved into the room with his head down. His dark hair looked thick and unkempt without the excessive products he used to keep it in place. The stubble she had witnessed on her last visit had turned into a beard that added ten years to his boyish good looks.

As he sank to the chair and met her eye, Courtney felt her body relax a little bit, though. The eyes were the same. Shining, crystal blue orbs bore into her as he rested his hands on table. "You are a vision, baby," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

She could feel herself blushing as she slid her hands into his and gripped them tightly. "The beard thing is kinda workin' for ya, Orton," she flirted a bit, though her smile never really fully formed.

"Now, don't get me wrong," Randy answered, squeezing her hand and instinctively playing with the ring on her left hand. "But I know you're not just here in the middle of the night because you missed me."

With a cringe, Courtney met Randy's gaze and bit her lip nervously. "I have to take the stand tomorrow, and I have to testify to your character," she reminded him. He nodded slowly. "And I want to believe that I know what a good man you are, Randy," she started to babble.

"I wondered how long it would take you to ask," he whispered, pulling his hands from her grasp and leaning back in his chair. "And don't worry, Courtney. I expected this."

Again, she felt herself smiling at the warmth of his words. Bracing herself, she pushed her hair behind her ears and tapped the top of the table. "Just tell me that you didn't do it. Just tell me again that it's all a mistake and that the evidence is circumstancial bull shit." Meeting his blank expression, she raised her eyebrow. "Please tell me it's a mix up."

_The way the thick fog rolled in over the seedy ally in downtown DC reminded Randy of something out of a movie. A movie where the lackey was just doing his job, trying to appease his boss, when something went terribly wrong and he ended up on the wrong end of a bullet._

_Tightening his wool coat around his shoulders, he glanced both directions down the empty street before entering the dampened alley. Groups of the homeless and strung out gathered around trash can fires, staying warm and sharing food they had managed to scrounge out of some restaurant's dumpster. Conversation was limited to low grumbles, and not for the first time, Randy wondered what the hell he was doing here._

_"How many times do I have to tell you, Kid," Booker T's gravelly voice sounded in the shadows. "Wearin' those shoes in this place is suicide." _

_Turning slowly, Randy rolled his eyes and cast a glance at his Prada loafers. "About as many times as I have to tell you the Colt in my belt says I don't give a fuck?" _

_With a loud laugh, Booker slapped Randy's shoulder and offered him a hand to shake. "I like you, Kid," he said, just as he always said when Randy made a run for Dave. "Not as pretty as the wife, but you got spunk. I like spunk."_

_It was well after midnight, and Randy had a half-drunk stripper named Candi coming over after her shift. The last thing he needed was to be held up trading small talk with a coked up dealer. "Can we maybe hurry this up, Book? I got shit to do tonight."_

_Grinning knowingly, Booker nodded and reached into the pocket of his tattered Army coat. "Alright, alright." He withdrew the baggy. "You know, a little courtesy goes a long way in business, Kid."_

_Randy took the baggy and held it up to the light of the nearest fire. Pure, white crystals glinted in the light as he nodded and handed Booker an envelope. "The big guy thanks you," he said sarcastically, pocketing the baggy in his dress pants and withdrawing another envelope. "What else you got for me?"_

_Booker T looked around suspiciously, as though anyone in the alley gave a damn what he was about to pull out. "Like candy from a baby, man," he smiled, withdrawing another baggy. "That shit's like buyin' gumballs from the machine at the Wal-Mart, you know?"_

_The man before him was beginning to bounce on his last good nerve as Randy flicked the bag and shook it once. "Where's the rest of it?" Booker looked confused. "Motherfucker, I told you I wanted three doses. Where's the rest of it?"_

_"That's three, man," he insisted. "Give me my money." He reached for the bag, but Randy swatted his hand away, staring at him with a hard look that defied any of the innocent charm he used on a daily basis. Relenting, Booker reached into his coat. "Fine. Here," he handed over another baggy. "But unless you're sedating large farm animals, you don't need that much shit, man."_

_With another roll of his eyes, Randy handed him the second envelope and nodded his head. "Pleasure doin' business with ya, Book," he grumbled dryly as he turned on his heel and headed back to his car._

As Randy continued to explain the events of that evening, Courtney felt her breath growing short. She knew that if the chair she was seated in had not been there, she would have fallen to a heap on the ground. Randy had purchased the Fentanyl. Kurt had been right.

"They looked identical. When I mixed them together, it was impossible to tell that the coke was laced with anything. Even Dave couldn't see it, or he just didn't care at that point. I mean, it wasn't like he was all that discerning."

She wanted to tell him to shut the hell up, but nothing came out when she opened her mouth. The unthinkable had happened - he had confessed. The love of her life had been killed by his best friend. And she was supposed to marry him in two months.

"I don't know," she started and then stopped speaking. "I can't," she tried again, and then shook her head to clear her thoughts. "How could you?"

Randy felt his heart pounding in his chest as he watched the woman he loved fighting tears. He knew that he wasn't going to be convicted, no matter what her testimony was tomorrow. He knew that there was no way to concretely prove that he had laced Dave's stash with anything, and even if they could, there was no way to prove that Dave hadn't asked him to do it. He had the best defense attorney in the city on retainer, and he wasn't going to jail.

"Courtney, the man that you loved, the one that was like a brother to me - he was a great guy. He was brilliant and witty and fantastic. He was the kind of guy everyone wants to be around, no doubt. But when he died, he wasn't that man anymore. He was different," he tried to explain.

It was as if the entire pallet of her mind had gone completely blank. No thoughts flowed through her as she stared at the table and tried to wrap her head around what she had just learned. She could feel the tear droplets starting down her cheeks, but her body was numb and she couldn't raise a finger to wipe them away.

"Courtney, listen to me," Randy spoke, his voice smooth and soothing as he leaned his elbows on the table and pleaded with his fiancee to look at him. When she met his eye, his heart broke. "I know you loved him. And I did, too. But he was already gone before he died. The demons had already stolen his soul. I had to do what was best for us. For you and me, baby. He was pulling both of us down."

"But how?" Courtney finally asked, barely moving.

"Ultimately, it was about doing what I believed was the right thing. Dave was never going to get help, Courtney. He was never going to get better and he was going to keep dragging us down with him. I had to do what I knew was best for both of us." Tapping the table, he pleaded with her to understand. "I did this for us."

Casting her glance to her lap, Courtney noticed that her knuckles were turning white around the handle of her bag. Though a part of her had believed it was possible, her heart was demanding that she hold on to faith in the man she was going to spend the rest of her life with. Her emotions had manipulated her into hoping and trusting.

"I have to go," she whispered, standing without wiping her tears.

Randy looked after her. It was strange, but he felt slightly better knowing that Courtney knew the truth. Though he knew his confession meant that she would testify against him in court, it also meant that she could get some rest now. She could finally sleep knowing the truth about what had happened to Dave. And he could stop carrying his secret around. Though he wasn't sure he should, he felt relieved.

"Courtney, Dave loved you." Randy watched as she stopped, but didn't turn around. "But even he knew that he wasn't strong enough for you."

Her shoulders shook a little bit as she turned and cast him a sad glance. Her voice held the whisper of defeat. "I guess none of us is ever as strong as we think we are."


	43. Guilty

**Angel Dust**

* * *

Each time she truly believed that the attention paid to her personal life could not get any worse, Courtney found that the media frenzy swelled to a new, and deafening, pitch. As she stepped out of the car and onto the pavement in front of the courthouse, she wasn't sure which was louder: her thoughts, or the rapid-fire questions of the reporters standing nearby. Their flashbulbs penetrated her dark sunglasses as she followed Shane up the stairs.

As if a respected news man standing trial for the murder of fiancee's late husband wasn't enough to pique the world's interest, the drama inside the legal teams was proving riveting. And as she sat in the conference room, awaiting her turn on the stand two weeks into the proceedings, Courtney found herself wishing that "human interest" of this story would just go away.

Shane McMahon, Randy's lawyer, was one of the nation's premier, and highest priced, defense attorneys. He was also a jet-setting playboy with a client list that included actors, musicians, and socialites, and who found himself regularly amongst said clients on the entertainment pages of newspapers and magazines. And though he had graduated nearly ten years before Randy, they were brothers in the same fraternity at Yale.

But none of that was gaining attention in the days leading up to, and going into, Washington's Trial of the Year. The media, and the American people, seemed far more interested in the fact that Shane was the son of Washington District Attorney, Vince McMahon. The fact that father and son were going head-to-head for the first time in their equally illustrious careers was captivating news channels from all over the world.

Though Vince had taken his time building a fairly convincing case against Randy, Shane was systematically picking every argument to pieces, reminding the jury that any reasonable doubt would acquit his client and that nothing they had heard so far pointed directly toward Randy.

Feeling as though her testimony meant nothing, Courtney made her way to the stand with little hope. She wasn't even sure it mattered anymore whether Randy was convicted or not. Truth was irrelevant as the case went on, and even if justice did prevail, she was fairly certain it wouldn't mean anything. It sure as hell wouldn't bring Dave back, and she knew it wouldn't help his posthumous reputation, either.

She took the oath and settled into the hard witness chair, waiting for Shane's line of questioning. He had already prepped her, and reminded her that her main job was to remind the jury that Randy was a loving friend and fiancee. Casting a glance at the rock on her finger, she thought about what she would do in that courtroom.

Even if she told the truth about everything - came clean about Randy's confession and her life with Dave, she knew that she was still a liar. She was still acting like the perfect picture of composure, even though the last few weeks had torn her world in half and sent it spiraling in different directions.

"Ms. Lane," Shane smiled, approaching the stand with a charming smile. "Can you describe the nature of your relationship with Mr. Orton for the court?"

She cleared her throat and looked from Shane to Randy. "He's my fiancee," she answered, convincing herself that they were still "technically" engaged, though she knew she would never make that walk down the aisle.

"And how long have you known Mr. Orton?"

"Fifteen years," she answered easily. "Since we were 13." She refused to look at the jury, refused to meet their eyes. Her father had always told her that a look established a connection with the jury, and that a witness trying to win them over would be sure to make frequent eye contact. But she didn't care about making a connection.

"And in that time, Ms. Lane," Shane started, turning toward the jury box as he spoke to the woman before him, "Did you ever witness any acts of violence on Mr. Orton's part? Anything that made you think he might be capable of murder?"

"Objection," Vince's voice rang out, startling Courtney slightly. She had sat across from the man, a good friend of her father's, at many dinners over the years. But his authoritative voice still struck fear in her heart. "The witness cannot speculate as to what the defendant may have been capable of."

Judge Jim Ross nodded and gave Shane a look. A staunch conservative, Judge Ross was not known for flinching when it came to handing out the strictest of punishments. He had sent more than his fair share of criminals to prison for far less than Randy was being accused of, Courtney knew.

"Sustained," he spoke, his eyebrow raising as Shane shrugged. It was common knowledge that the judge was not a fan of Shane or his father, but throughout the case, Courtney couldn't help but think he was leaning a little toward Vince.

Switching directions, Shane threw Courtney a curveball. "How many times did your late husband send you to pick up drugs for him, Ms. Lane?"

"A few. Normally, he picked them up himself," she answered honestly. "Dave knew his limitations. He knew when he was too impaired to operate a vehicle. Those times when he couldn't do it himself, he sent me."

"Or Mr. Orton?" She nodded. "How often would you say Mr. Orton made these runs for your late husband?"

Shrugging, Courtney thought over the tenure of her relationship with Dave. "I'd say once, maybe twice, a month."

"Ms. Lane," Shane addressed her as he glanced at the notes by his chair at the defense table. "Would you admit that your husband had a serious drug problem?"

"Yes."

"And though, as you described, he knew his limits, is it fair to say that your late husband had a tendency to take uneccessary risks when it came to getting high? When it came to that addiction?"

She knew exactly what he was doing, and Courtney couldn't say she blamed him. It was Shane's job to remind the jury that a man like Dave could have very easily killed himself accidentally. His job was to make sure Randy didn't get convicted. She couldn't fault him for it, but she didn't have to like it.

With a nod, she felt her shoulders stiffening again, the tenseness building in the nape of her neck. "Dave believed in living his life to the fullest, yes. He was fearless," she shook her head as she remembered her husband for a moment. "He loved his life, but he wasn't scared of what came after it, either."

"Thank you, Miss Lane," Shane nodded, seemingly satisfied with her answers. "No further questions, Your Honor."

Vince stood behind the table, his eyes trained on the young woman before him. He had known her since she was just a little girl. If Courtney cracked now, Vince would be the first in the room to pick up on it. And she knew him - he wouldn't let it slide, no matter who she was.

"Ms. Lane, isn't it true that Mr. Orton professed his love for you long before your husband died?"

The fact that he had gone straight for the "jealous" theory didn't surprise her. In fact, it wasn't the first time Vince had mentioned Randy's high school crush on Courtney, or their blossoming friendship throughout her marriage to Dave, during the course of the trial.. But before she could answer, she saw Shane shoot out of his chair.

"Objection," he stated, rolling his eyes. "Your Honor, asking the witness about something that happened over ten years ago is ridiculous. Unless the prosecution plans to ask about her high school crush on Zack Morris as well, I would ask counsel move on to something relevant."

A few chuckles rose from the courtroom as Vince continued to study Courtney. "Withdrawn," he said in a low, controlled voice. "I have only one question for you, Ms. Lane. Can you say, with one hundred percent certainty, that your fiancee had no malicious intent, nothing to gain, by killing your husband? Do you believe he's innocent?"

"Objection!" Shane shouted again. "The court does not rule based on opinion!"

Vince seemed annoyed as he looked toward the judge. "Ms. Lane is a character witness, Your Honor. She is here for no other reason than to give her opinion on Mr. Orton's character."

Casting a glance toward Courtney, Judge Ross seemed intrigued by her expression. "Over ruled," he motioned for Shane to sit down. "I'll allow the question."

Courtney thought about her answer carefully. She could say that Randy did not have malicious intent when he killed Dave. As far as his motivation, she was thoroughly convinced that he thought he was doing the right thing. And he had gained things from Dave's death, no doubt, but Courtney wasn't sure that's why he had done it. In fact, she was pretty sure that it wasn't.

"Ms. Lane," Vince's voice interrupted her thoughts again. "You loved your husband, didn't you?" She nodded, unsure of where he was going with the question. "And I imagine it's pretty devestating for you to try to wrap your head around everything that has been said about him in this courtroom over the last few weeks?"

Courtney gritted her teeth. She would not cry on the stand. She wouldn't show these emotions. She wouldn't be that sobbing widow who just couldn't go on without her man. She was Courtney Lane. No, she was Courtney Lane-Batista. The daughter of a United States Senator. The wife of one of the most feared men in television news. She wouldn't crack. She couldn't.

Her little internal pep-talk ended when Vince put his hand on the side of the witness stand. With a warm grin that reminded her of her father and childhood, he spoke softly. "Courtney, though Mr. McMahon has done everything in his power to convince the jury otherwise, your husband is not on trial here. We are not here to justify or condemn the decisions that he made during his life. Do you believe, Courtney, that Randy Orton is innocent?"

A tear broke through as she looked into the blue eyes she had come to rely on so heavily in the days since Dave's passing. Whether or not it made a difference in the final verdict, Courteny realized it didn't matter. She owed it to Dave to at least be honest.

Shaking her head, she bit her lip and watched as Randy slightly nodded his head, as though encouraging her to tell the truth, to do what she thought was right. "No," she whispered, drawing an audible gasp from some of the people in the crowd.

Vince excused her from the stand and Courtney left with a sinking feeling in her gut. She wasn't on trial in that courtroom, but maybe she should have been. She had been partially responsible for Dave's death, after all. Though she hadn't laced his stash or actually injected anything into his needles, she hadn't tried to stop him. She had never asked him, never so much as mentioned that he should try to get help.

Everything she thought she had put behind her over the last two years had been rushing over her en masse lately. And the fact that she could no longer feel Dave's presence was only adding to the pressure. In the beginning, she had felt him all the time, and she had taken comfort in knowing that he was out there, still loving her, even as she went on without him.

"Cemetery, please," Courtney instructed the driver before leaning back against the leather seat in the car. There was only one place that she could have sworn she had felt his physical presence with her after his death. And if she had to beg his grave for forgiveness in order to feel it again, she would. Because at the moment, the idea that he might still love her, even beyond death and all of her recent mistakes, was the only thing keeping her sane.

Exiting the car, Courtney tipped the driver and peeled her navy blazer from her shoulders. The humidity of the DC summer clung to her body as she wove between tombstones, fully focused on her destination.

But when she arrived, her breath caught in her throat. She never felt her jacket or her purse slipping from her grip, nor did she hear them fall to the soft earth with a dull thud. The only thing she could hear was her heart racing in her throat.

"Hello, Princess." Dave shot her the same confident smile with which he had always greeted her. "Long time, no see."


	44. Reunited

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: Just wanted to take a second to say thanks to everyone who has been reviewing this story. The fact that I may very well hit 350 reviews blows my mind. The fact that you're all sticking with me through a story almost twice as long as anything else I've ever written flatters me. Thanks for your kind words and your faithfullness to Dave and Courtney, as well as your passionate reactions to the revelations and surprises in the story (don't worry, I'm not done with the twists quite yet). I'm humbled and amazed by the response I have gotten with Angel Dust. You guys truly are the best! Enjoy!

* * *

**

Courtney stood for what felt like an eternity, trying to process what she was seeing. She blinked and shook her head, convincing herself that it was an illusion. Dave couldn't possibly be standing just a few feet away. He was dead. Dead men didn't just appear out of nowhere.

Clearing her throat she ran a hand over her tightly twisted hair and chuckled. "It's finally happened." Looking at him again, she threw her hands in the air, as if surrendering. "I've finally lost my damn mind."

Dave couldn't wipe the smile off of his face as he watched his wife grappling with his presence. "You're not crazy, Courtney. I'm right here," he assured her, taking a step forward.

"No, you're not," Courtney shook her head and turned her back. Her mind was fucking with her. That was the only explanation. She was imagining him there, reaching out to her, looking better than he ever had in jeans and an American Eagle tee shirt.

Moving carefully, so as not to startle her, Dave rested a large hand on her tiny shoulder. "I'm right here, Princess," he whispered in her ear, an electrical current rushing through his arm at the contact. It was almost as though he felt alive again.

She could close her eyes and pretend all she wanted that this wasn't real, but that touch was undeniable. His skin against hers brought back a thousand bittersweet memories as she turned and stared into the deep chocolate pools of his eyes. "But how?" she asked, searching his gaze for an answer.

"I can't explain it," Dave admitted honestly.

_Not for the first time in the endless days that followed Trish's confession, Dave stared at the burgundy walls of his room and wished that there really was a hell. At least there, he would have a source for the unbearable torture that he was feeling. At least there he could feel the fires of his sins. And that had to be better than the numb nothingness he endured daily without a connection to Courtney._

_"Mr. Batista, I have an assignment for you," a loud voice boomed through his room unexpectedly._

_Dave nearly fell off his chair at the sound, but managed to compose himself as he looked around for a body to accompany the voice. "Um, okay," he said. He knew instinctively that it was the Higher Power speaking to him, but as far as he was concerned, the big HP could go to the imaginary hell. If wasn't for him, or her, he wouldn't be twiddling his thumbs and hating his after life._

_Without warning, a light flickered against the wall of Dave's room. Without a platform, and without any static, Courtney's face filled the wall, causing Dave to jump from his seat. "Her purpose is not yet complete," the Higher Power confided as Dave reached out to touch his young wife, walking slowly through the cemetery where his body rested. "It is not her time to go, yet she is on the edge of surrender. Her view of the future is obscured by the obstacles and mistakes of the past."_

_Speechless, he continued to watch as Courtney stripped herself of her navy suit jacket. "Why me?" Dave asked, knowing he was the last person in the world who should talk to anyone about sanity._

_"You are the obstacle," was the cryptic voice's only answer._

_As he watched Courtney brush tiny beads of sweat from her forehead, he cleared his throat. "How do I help her?"_

_With another flicker, Courtney's face was gone from his vision. But as Dave blinked and shook his head, trying to convince himself that he really was going crazy, he felt a soft breeze blowing over his skin. The wiff of subtle, yet expensive, perfume wafted on the air as Dave turned, laying eyes on her for the first time in two years._

"So, what?" Courtney asked cynically stepping away from his touch. "You're like an angel? Here to deliver some message about what I'm supposed to do with my life?"

Fighting another smile, Dave shook his head. "If anyone knows that I'm no angel, Princess, it's you," he reminded. "Listen, someone on the Other Side seems to think you need some stable ground to stand on."

She studied his face. The love that he had always shown for her, the affection that had always emenated from every part of his being, was as present as it always been during his life. "Tell me something, Lover," she sighed, moving past him and sinking to the ground. She leaned against his tombstone and watched him turn, running his hand over the top of his head. How he was there didn't matter. He was there, and that was enough. "Is it peaceful?"

Dave motioned for Courtney to scoot forward as he slid in place behind her. Did he have minutes with her? Hours? Days? The Higher Power had given him no indication of the time he would spend on Earth, and he was determined to hold her until the last possible second. Feeling her relax in his arms, her head against his chest as he felt her breathing, Dave fought an overwhelming flood of emotions.

"It has its moments," he answered honestly. "Been kinda dull lately, though."

"Dull?" Courtney laughed. "Well I guess that answers that question then," she shook her head.

"What?" Dave asked, confusion evident in his voice. If he was honest, he really didn't care what she had to say. She could tell him he was a son of a bitch for the next few hours, as long as she sat in his arms.

"The debate as to whether the dead really watch over us," Courtney explained her statement. "Like guardian angels or something. I guess they don't."

Clearing his throat, Dave wondered how much he was allowed to tell her. "They do," he said without thinking. What was the worst that could happen to him if he said too much? He'd already lost the only positive thing about death. His connection was gone. Anything else the Higher Power could muster as punishment would pale in comparison.

Courtney twisted in his arms until she leaned against his leg and stared up into his eyes. "Then your definition of "dull" is fucked all to hell, Lover."

With a heavy sigh, he ran a hand down her arm. "Princess, I haven't exactly been allowed to watch you for the last few months," he admitted.

"Why? Did your satellite go out?" Courtney teased.

Another urge rushed over him as Dave remembered countless nights just talking with Courtney on their couch, or in their bed. Sure, they had torn their apartment to hell with rabid, passionate, animalistic sex more times than not, but there was more to their union that just a little fucking and primal attraction. They had been soulmates. And Dave had never been so sure of that as he was holding her now.

"I broke a rule," he sighed. Courtney rolled her eyes. "Actually, it's kind of more complicated than that."

Though he wasn't sure of his purpose for being there, Dave had more than a sinking suspicion that his chance at redemption was one of the points on the agenda. Everything Eddie had been saying to him since his arrival on the Other Side was pounding in his ears as he thought of how to tell Courtney of his sins.

For more than an hour, he tried to explain to his young wife the intricacies of his time spent after death. He told her about his arrival, his observations, his manipulation. He explained Trish's existence, his reunion with Eddie, and the plan to push her and Randy together. He even confessed his anger, and his adamant need to keep her away from Nitro.

"Wait a minute," Courtney held up her hand when Dave mentioned the young artist. "You saw me with him?" Dave nodded. "Everything?"

"Oh yeah," he grimaced, pretending as though a shiver was running down his spine. "The paint, the wipped cream, the body shot," he rattled off her romps with the man from the Village, all the while showing his complete discomfort of the situation.

"No, no, no," Courtney shook her head. "I mean, you heard everything I told him?" She immediately thought to the abortion confession, her cheeks turning a crimson red.

Dave rubbed a hand up and down her back. He explained that he had been none to happy to hear it at the time. He went on to explain his conflict with Trish, and ultimately, his severed connection. "It took me a long time to come to terms with it," he concluded, tightening his grip on his wife's shoulders, "but when you've got nothing else to focus on, you find a lot of time to sort out your biggest fuck ups, ya know? Besides, whether I had anything to do with it or not, you're doin' okay for yourself. I should have known I would have nothing to worry about."

Biting her lip, Courtney tried to think of the best way to explain to Dave what had happened since his connection had been severed. How did she tell the man with the worst temper she had ever seen that his best friend had killed him for his own good? And was Dave fully human? Could anyone else see him? If they couldn't, would he try to return the favor to Randy?

"What's the last thing you saw?" she asked carefully.

"Orton proposed," Dave answered. "And I gotta tell ya, Princess," he sighed, shaking his head, "I can't say I'm not glad you accepted. I mean, Orton's a good guy. I think he'll be the right person for you to grow old with."

His addiction to cocaine had been taken from him against his will. But the surrender of his controlling nature was something he was coming to all on his own. And though he had never bought into the whole "confession is good for the soul" bull shit, he was starting to think there was something to the concept.

"Oh," Courtney nodded easily, turning wide eyes to him. In a flat, almost sarcastic tone, she asked, "So you didn't see the part where Orton is a backstabbing murderer who laced your last stash with enough Fentanyl to kill a third world country?"

Dave stared at her knee, saying nothing.

Courtney snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Hey, Crackhead, did ya hear me? I said your best friend is a backstabbing murderer. Well, he's not exactly technically a backstabber. More of a stash-lacer, but that doesn't sound nearly as imposing," she began to ramble.

Nodding slowly, he met her eyes and raised a finger to her full lips. "I know," he whispered.

She thought that Orton's confession was the most shocking thing she had ever heard. She had been wrong. "You know?" He nodded. "Wait!" Courtney sat up a little bit straighter as the pieces began to fall into place. "That's why you're here, isn't it? To exact revenge on the man who ended your life? The Higher Power, or whatever you call him, has given you a second chance."

Though her excitement was somewhat infectious, Dave couldn't bear to hear her continue. "Shh," he shook his head, rubbing his thumb over her bottom lip. "I'm not here for revenge, Sweetheart. I don't want it."

She gave him a perplexed look. "You don't want it? What the fuck did they do to you out there?" she asked with a laugh, holding her hand to his forehead. "Why the fuck wouldn't you want to torture, mame, and destroy the man responsible for your death?"

"Because I told him to do it."


	45. Absolution

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: Oh, I should so be in bed right now. Alright, kids, here's the deal - this is techincally the last chapter of Angel Dust. I have an epilogue planned that will tell you what happens with Courtney in the future, but you're gonna have to let me know if you want it. Otherwise, this is it. Enjoy!

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**

_Randy had been busting his ass for Dave since the day he started working for the man. He had done everything asked of him, and then some, in an effort to prove his worth in the industry. It was no secret that he had much greater ambitions than just serving as Junior Producer for the rest of his career, and though he couldn't explain it, he had a feeling that his big break was right around the corner._

_He had just returned from a lunch run when Dave's secretary, a bubbly little brunette named Mickie James, had informed him that the boss wanted to meet for an itenerary review. And though it wasn't out of the ordinary for Randy and Dave to get together and go over what they had on their respective plates at the moment, he had a feeling something was wrong. _

_Knocking on the door, Randy leaned his head inside the office. "You wanted to talk to me?"_

_Dave cast a glance toward the door and then dropped the pen in his hand. "Yeah. Have a seat, Kid," he motioned for the chair across his desk._

_He dropped into the chair and watched his boss. Something wasn't right. There was a look on his face, something beneath the surface, that was just not Dave. "What's on your mind, big man?" he asked finally._

_Reaching into his desk, Dave withdrew a folder and took something out of it. He then slid the folder toward Randy. "You think you're ready for a solo project?" he asked._

_Was he ready? Was Muhammad Ali the greatest boxer of all time? Was John Kennedy the greatest president who ever lived? Was Britney Spears a redneck hillbilly with a strange gum addiction? "Oh, hell yeah, man!" he laughed enthusiastically._

_Dave watched as his protegee opened the folder and skimmed its contents. "The network wants a 20 minute expose on Fentanyl," he explained. "You'll work with one of the Prime Time investigative reporters, research, and produce a spot to air on the Sunday night show."_

_Nodding enthusiastically, Randy continued to look through the folder. Though it seemed strange that Dave would drop something like a national story in his lap, he knew he was ready and he couldn't wait to get started. "Dude, this is like," he looked up, his face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning, "this is great." And then he noticed the half-smile on Dave's face. "There's more to this than a simple story, isn't there?"_

_Taking a deep breath, Dave pushed back from the desk a little bit and folded his hands over his stomach. "I'm going to Arizona tomorrow morning," he stated. Randy nodded - they had already talked about Dave's impending trip. "I'm meeting with John McCain, and then moving on to California to help Gibson with some GOP primary coverage."_

_As Dave slid a pamphlet across the desk, Randy glanced at the cover. "Did Senator McCain check himself into rehab?" he asked dumbly, flipping the information packet open._

_When Randy glanced his way again, Dave shook his head. "I did," he said._

_"You checked Senator McCain into rehab? For what? Being a Republican?"_

_For a brief moment, Dave considered raising out of his chair and punching Randy square in the face. Instead, he leaned forward and folded his hands on the desk. "Do you know what I did last night, Orton?"_

_Randy shrugged. More than likely, his boss had hit a few parties, maybe drank a little too much, came home, snorted a few lines, and then fucked his wife senseless before falling into a peacefully sleep. That was what he usually did. But seeing as Courtney hadn't called him in a panic, screaming because Dave looked dead, he assumed it had been an uneventful night. "No idea, man," he answered honestly._

_With a slight chuckle, Dave shook his head. "Do you know what the first thing I saw when I woke up this morning was?"_

_Though his logic seemed to be jumping, Randy was unphased. Dave wasn't exactly the most linear thinker he had ever met. "Courtney?" he asked._

_With a nod, Dave met Randy's eye. "The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and my beautiful wife was sleeping like a peaceful angel in my bed," he sighed and shook his head. "And then she woke up." He closed his eyes for a moment, a pained expression on his chiseled face. "And she smiled at me, ran her hand over my cheek, and thanked me for the best fucking sex of her life."_

_Randy rolled his eyes. It wasn't unlike Dave to disclose far too much information about his sex life. Hell, the big man was proud of the way he fucked his wife, the way he made her scream, even to the point of doing it while Randy was sitting in the same room. "Um. . . congratulations?" Randy offered, unsure of what he was supposed to say._

_"I had earth-shattering sex with my angellically beautiful wife, and I don't remember it, man," Dave confessed. "Not a flash. Not a flutter of a memory. I remember going home last night. Courtney made me dinner. I remember snorting a few lines for dessert," he stopped and shook his head. "I don't fucking remember giving my wife the best orgasm of her life."_

_Still at a loss, Randy shook his head. "Dude, I'm sorry, but I'm not following."_

_With a huge sigh, Dave spoke words he never dreamed he would say. "Randy, I have a serious problem." Tapping the pamphlet on the desk between them, he leaned back at his desk. "I have a great fucking life, and I am on the verge of losing it all. Courtney will never admit it, but she's about three hits away from walking out on me." _

_"So you're getting some help?" Though it seemed obvious, Randy had learned that it rarely ever was with Dave. _

_With a simple nod, Dave answered the question. "I'm gonna need your help, though. I mean, as far as Courtney knows, I'm away on business for the next three to five weeks. I'm going to need you to help corroborate my story, okay?"_

_Randy nodded. Of course it was okay. He had watch Dave's condition decline for far too long. He had been the one pushing Courtney to stage an intervention. If anyone wanted to see the man kick his habit, it was Randy. It was one thing to admire the man as a mentor. But Dave was more than that - he was Randy's best friend. And there was nothing he wanted more in the world than to his friend beat this thing._

_Tapping his file folder on the edge of the desk, Randy stood. "Of course, Dave. Anything I can do to help - you know I've always got your back," he assured._

_"I'm counting on it," Dave shot back. "Cause Orton, if this shit doesn't work," he started as Randy stopped in the doorway. "I'm gonna need you to take care of my Princess for me."_

_The blood in Randy's veins ran cold as he slowly turned. "Dave, you're gonna kick it. Don't worry, man," he assured his friend._

_But Dave didn't want to be assured. "Look, Orton, I'm not snorting to get high anymore. I'm out thousands every month just to maintain. To keep myself from going into withdrawls so badly that I can't control my own body. You're afraid I'll die if I keep using," he shook his head and stood, bracing himself with both hands on his desk. "I'm afraid I'll die if I stop."_

_There was a long, painful, tense silence between them as Randy looked at the folder in his hand. "So what do you want me to do?"_

Without warning, Courtney's hand found the back of Dave's head. She smacked him four times and then stood. "Motherfucker," she spat, jumping to her feet. "You fucking coward!"

Dave made it to his feet and watched her, fully prepared for whatever wrath she would unleash. "Princess, please believe me when I say that I tried," he started. "I really tried."

"And please believe me when I say I don't fucking care!" She realized that her voice was raising, but she couldn't contain the anger building up inside of her at the moment. "I don't know if I'm more pissed that you went to rehab without even fucking telling me about it, or because you took the easy way out."

"There was nothing easy about my decision," Dave said. Though he knew it was no longer beating, his heart felt as though it had been ripped into a thousand pieces. Even in the months leading up to his death, he had known it would kill Courtney to know what he had done. And that's why he and Orton had agreed never to tell her, no matter what happened.

"BULL SHIT!" Courtney's voice hit a screeching pitch, and she felt her heart racing in her chest. There was no one else on the face of the earth that could illicit such a response from Courtney Lane. She was reserved with everyone, some would say to a fault. But with Dave, passion was unleashed. Whether it was loving or fighting, he was the only one who could ever bring her to a frenzied release.

Though he wanted to calm her, he knew it was no use. He had made a decision that would drastically alter the course of her life, and he had never consulted her about it. He couldn't. Now he had to deal with the ramifications of that, his most questionable, decision.

"You couldn't stand knowing that you caused me pain? You had Orton take you out so that your weakness wouldn't hurt me anymore?" She shook her head and moved closer to him. "Look in my eyes, David! Look at me!"

Though he truly believed he was doing the right thing at the time, Dave saw everything clearly in Courtney's chocolate gaze. Truth was irrelevant. Lies didn't matter. Secrets and confessions and revelations were inconsequential. The pain, confusion, anger, and bitterness radiating from her was something he had never seen. She was broken, and he was to blame, once again.

"Is this what you wanted?" she asked, her voice breaking as tears flooded her wide orbs. "Do you know what I think about every night when I go to bed, Dave? Do you?" He shook his head. "I think about holding your head in that bathroom. I think about feeling the life draining out of you. And I wonder what I could have done to stop it. I have been twisted inside with guilt about what I could have done to save you for two fucking years.

"Ya know, I always refused to admit it, but I always knew," she stopped pacing and ran a hand over her hair. "It was all a lie. You said you loved me more than anything, but it was just a big, fat, fucking lie. A lie that we all accepted because it was easier than admitting that the only thing you loved more than anything in the whole fucking world was your fucking addiction."

Dave grimaced as she voiced the words, but knew he had nothing to say in defense. This was never supposed to happen. This day was never supposed to come. She was never supposed to know. And yet, he realized as he watched her, it was inevitable. It had to happen. Until she knew his version of the truth, she could never truly let him go.

"You always said I was everything you needed, Princess, but that was a lie, too," he whispered. As the tears coursed down her round cheeks, Dave stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder, resting the other in the middle of her chest. "What we did was wrong," he referred to himself and Randy, "But you have a chance to make it right."

Though she wanted to be angry, she felt the tension in her chest lifting as Dave laid his hand there. The unbearable pain that she had dealt with since his death was seemingly fading away with his words. "What are you doing?"

"Absolving you," he answered.

"What?"

"It's not your fault, Courtney. The things I did. The things Orton did. We made those decisions without you," he assured her, resting his hand on her shoulder. "And you don't have to carry it around anymore. Live your life, Princess. However the hell you want to live it. Make decisions that are good for you, and don't fuckin' worry about anyone else."

As he said the words, Courtney watched his countenance fading. He had done the job he was sent to do - he had released her to live a life of her own. If for none of the other beautiful memories they shared, Courtney could love him for that final act of sacrifice alone.

Taking her jacket and her purse from the ground, she returned to the tombstone and pressed a kiss to the picture staring back at her. It would take weeks, maybe months, to come to terms with what had happened that night. But she knew, instinctively, as she walked toward the road, that nothing would ever be the same.

He would always be a part of her. He was the man who had taught her to love with her entire being, and live life to the absolute fullest possible extent. But he was a part of her past. And for the first time since his passing, she felt free to move on into a future of her own choosing.


	46. Epilogue

**Angel Dust**

**A/N: So this is it - the Epilogue and ending to Angel Dust. To say that I am prouder of this story than anything I have ever written is a severe understatement. And to say that your continued support of it never ceases to blow me away is also an understatement. You guys are the best. When I decided to start posting this one, I was really nervous about how it would be received. It's a little bit different, not only for me, but for wrestling fics in general. To see that it has become my most popular story by far means so much to me, and I have to take a second to thank you all for the time, and the sincere compliments that you have sent my way in regards to Dave, Courtney, Randy, Nitro, and everyone else who appeared here.**

**So without further ado - the conclusion to Angel Dust! Enjoy!

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**

There was something about fall in Washington that Courtney was drawn to like no other time of year. The crisp autumn breeze filtering through the changing leaves had a calming effect on her. And anticipation crackled in the air as she sat in front of a quaint coffee shop and sipped her Chai latte while reading over a legal brief.

Deciding to take her mother's advice, Courtney had found a cause that she found worthy and championed it with everything she had. Whether or not she made another run for the Senate was still to be determined, but her life as an advocate for endangered, abused, and neglected women and children was more fulfilling than she could ever imagine.

"Is this seat taken?" a voice interrupted her thoughts.

Squinting against the bright sunlight, Courtney felt her heart flip flop in her chest. "Holy shit!" she exclaimed, jumping from her seat to wrap her arms around Nitro's neck.

In the five years since she had seen him last, he hadn't changed a bit. His blonde hair was pulled back from his face, and his broad smile shone as bright as it ever had. "So are you in town on business?"

He eased himself into the seat across from her and sipped from a styrofoam cup. "Family vacation," he answered, smiling when her eyebrow shot up slightly. He twirled his wedding band on his finger and nodded. "You look stunning, Courtney."

She blushed and rested her hand on her ever-growing belly. "I'm a whale," she rolled her eyes. She had always dreamed of the day she would become a mother, and now that it was only two months from reality, she was wondering why she had been so sold on the thought. "So how have you been?"

There was an ease between them, one that Nitro found relaxing. The first thing he had ever noticed about Courtney Lane was her smile, and the fact that she couldn't wipe it off her face now made him happier than he could explain. "Not nearly as busy as you," he nodded to the papers in her hand. "I've been reading about you a lot lately."

Nodding, Courtney pushed the paper aside. "I've been a busy girl," she admitted, drinking her Chai again. "So tell me, Nitro, what have you read?"

He thought back over the years of articles he had perused on the subject of his former love. Though he could never claim her as an ex-girlfriend, they had never really dated, he couldn't deny that he had loved her. "Well," he thought about where to start, "Obviously you're not with Orton anymore."

She shook her head. "Things didn't really work out there."

He had read all about the trial, about how Orton had been unanimously acquitted on all charges regaurding Dave's death. As far as the public was concerned, he had been unfairly accused of a horrible crime. If Courtney knew a different truth, she wasn't letting on. "He seems to have rebounded pretty well," he commented on the fact that Randy's television career was better than ever, with the upstart stepping out from behind the camera to begin anchoring his own weekly news show on CNN.

Nodding, Courtney took another drink, trying to collect her thoughts. She had never told anyone of Randy's confession. Other than her denial of his complete innocence in the courtroom, she had never so much as whispered a word of what she knew to anyone. It was irrelevant, and dwelling on it would only keep her tied to the past. "Seems to be," she agreed.

"Have you talked to him?" Nitro asked, unsure of why he needed to know.

"Nah," Courtney answered. "Not since I broke off the engagement."

They talked about the weather, and about how much he loved Chicago for a few more minutes as Nitro talked about the gallery he was running and the world of artists with whom he now assosciated.

"It's funny," he said distractedly. "When the Super Bowl was in Chicago, I almost called you about a hundred times. I knew you'd be in town," he informed her.

"With John," Courtney acknowledged, nodding as she leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table.

"Yeah. Read those rumors, too," he shot her a winning smile.

Courtney rolled her eyes. "John and I are friends, Nitro. We did give it another shot after Randy and I split, but we're high school sweethearts, nothing more." There was a slight pause as she shook her head. "But enough about me. What about you?"

He noticed her glancing at his wedding ring and Nitro smiled as he thought about his wife. "I met Maria when I first moved to Chicago. She owns a flower shop down the street from my apartment, and she's the single most genuinely loving soul I have ever met," he beamed as he spoke of her. "We've been married for four years now."

Reaching forward, Courtney laid her hand over his. "I'm really happy for you, Nitro," she said. "You deserve all the happiness in the world."

They sat there in silence once again, but it wasn't awkward or uncomfortable. Though they had only been a part of each other's lives for a short period of time, there was an understanding between them that defied time. She realized, as he looked into her eyes with no judgement or question, that she was lucky to have had him, even if only for a few months.

"DADDY!" a small voice pierced their quiet moment as Nitro turned his head and opened his arms, almost instinctually. A tiny bundle of blonde-headed energy flung herself into his lap and hugged his neck. "Daddy, we saw the Lincoln Mem. . . Memor. . . " Turning her head to the side, she looked up at the woman now standing beside their table. "Mommy, what's it called?"

"The Lincoln Memorial," Nitro's wife, Maria, smiled sweetly. Turning to Courtney, her eyes grew wide. "Oh my goodness," she gasped slightly. "You really do know Courtney Lane?" she asked Nitro in disbelief.

Nitro stood and hitched his daughter on his hip, touching his wife's back with his free hand and kissing the side of her head. "Courtney, this is my wife, Maria," he introduced.

The thin woman with dark eyes and long, silky hair extended her hand to Courtney. "Johnny said he knew you, but I didn't really believe it," she laughed.

Standing, Courtney accepted the handshake. "Your husband is a great guy," she smiled. "And what's your name?" she asked the little girl, who only turned and buried her head in her father's shoulder. "Great. I'm supposed to pop one out in a few months, and I can't even get them to talk to me."

Maria took the little girl from her father's arms and rubbed her back. "Sophie, baby," she encouraged, "Can you say "hi" to Daddy's friend, Courtney?" When Sophie shook her head and dug her face further into her mother's shoulder, Maria shrugged. "I guess she's playing shy today."

A car horn honked behind them, interrupting the mood of the moment. Courtney turned and motioned for the driver to park and join her. "So, how long are you guys in the city?" she asked, returning to her conversation.

"Until Friday. This is Sophie's first vacation, so we wanted to make it educational," Maria responded, leaning heavily on Nitro's shoulder as she rocked her daughter back in forth.

"Well, I don't know what your plans look like, but if you're free, we'd love to have you over for dinner Thursday night," she invited as the man from the car approached. "We don't have plans Thursday do we, Sweetie?"

He shook his head and weaved an arm around Courtney's waist, pulling her close to his side. "I don't think so."

"Um, Maria, Nitro," she weaved an arm around the man at her side and laid her head on his shoulder. "This is my husband, Hunter," she made the introduction as Hunter shook hands with Nitro and then smiled at Maria. "Nitro and I were friends in New York," she explained.

Hunter's dark eyes grew wide as he made the connection. "Ah, the artist," he nodded. "Well, it's nice to finally meet you," he smiled.

"Ya know," Nitro said to Courtney, "When I read that you guys were getting married, I was a little bit surprised."

Courtney couldn't really fault him for the reaction. Truth be told, no one was more suprirsed by the turn of events that had landed her at dinner with the man who had once spread her personal business all over the pages of The New York Times. "What can I say?" She shrugged and cuddled closer to her husband's side. "I have a thing for persistent guys with blonde hair and ponytails," she winked at Nitro.

Maria turned a loving gaze at her husband. "They do have a certain charm, don't they?"

Nitro promised to call Courtney about dinner and said his good-byes as his family started down the street in the opposite direction of Courtney and Hunter. The meeting left her with a warm feeling of contendedness.

"So you know we're going to be late for my appointment, right?" she told her husband as he held the car door for her.

"You know we wouldn't have been if you hadn't made me find a parking place and meet your friend," he reminded her with a wink before shutting the door and moving to the drivers' side. Once they were back on the street, Courtney reached for Hunter's hand and held it against her thigh. "So did that bring up some weird memories?" he finally asked as they headed for the doctor's office.

Courtney knew he was referring to the fact that Nitro was a part of the life she repeatedly insisted she was determined to leave behind. But with a peaceful smile, she turned to face him. "Not at all," she answered honestly.

Seven years after her first husband's death, she knew that she would never truly be over Dave's loss. Anger, bitterness, confusion, sadness, loss, and grief had all been part of her healing process. But now that she was happily married to a man who adored her, pursuing a life that truly made her happy, and expecting a child of her own, she knew she was where she was supposed to be.

And she knew that it had to be, at least in part, due to her own angel on the other side.


	47. A Better Epilogue

**Angel Dust  
Epilogue**

**Two years ago, I completed this story with a twist. One final 'Oh Shit' moment that would leave everyone shaking their heads and saying 'I never saw that coming.' And for two years, I have wished that I hadn't done it. I have kicked myself, on numerous occasions, for doing an injustice to the story in favor of one last surprising twist. I rarely read the epilogue, and when I do, I cringe. Anybody who's talked to me about this story knows well how I feel about it's ending, and most of them have encouraged me to just rewrite it. I've always hesitated to do that, feeling like this one chapter should serve as a reminder of what happens when I took my eyes off the story I was telling and thought more about the reaction that I would get. But in reviewing some of my previous works yesterday, I decided that I just couldn't take it anymore. **

**So why now? I have no idea. Maybe it's because I now believe that nothing is irredeemable. Maybe it's because I now believe that it's never too late to make a change. Maybe it's because this story will always hold a special place in my heart, and knowing that it's out there with the wrong ending will eat at me until I fix it. Maybe it's because Kimberly always reminds me that the story ended wrong, and I'm tired of feeling guilty about it. I don't know the reason, but I sat down last night and wrote the ending that I think the story should have had from day one. If you liked the old ending, I'll leave it up there for a little while, at least. If you didn't, and you thought it ruined the whole story? I'm in violent agreement, and this is my offering to you. I hope you Enjoy!**

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"Courtney!"

The hushed whisper broke through Courtney's sleep, causing her to groan and roll in the direction of the voice. She merely grunted a response, her eyes tightly closed. She was fairly certain that she had just locked her apartment for the night and fallen into a deep, comforting sleep. It couldn't possibly be morning. Not yet.

"Are you asleep?"

"Yes," she groaned into the pillow, more annoyed than surprised at the sound of the voice next to her in the darkness. Opening one eye, she hazily took in the blaring numbers on the clock at her side. Did it say 2:15? As in the middle of the night? What the hell was he doing there?

"Get up."

She just buried her face further into the pillow. "No," she spoke into the covers surrounding her neck and cheek. Not even _he_ was going to rouse her from such a peaceful slumber.

"I have news."

She didn't care about his news. Eighteen-hour days at her charitable foundation were taking their toll and she didn't care if he was the most beautiful man in the world, whom she was only able to see on the occasion that their schedules allowed it. She wasn't opening her eyes.

Even when he flipped the light switch, flooding the midnight with brilliant white light, Courtney merely burrowed further beneath the covers. He couldn't make her get up. She wouldn't allow it. "Away," she croaked through the fog of sleep in her throat.

But he was nothing, if not persistent. Throwing the covers back, John Cena smiled at the young woman in the center of the large, four-poster bed. Though her eyes didn't open, her frown and the middle finger that she shot in no particular direction were downright adorable. "Please, baby?" he begged. "This is important."

But she just shook her head. "John," she whined his name as his muscular arms pushed her from the center of the bed to the edge. Climbing in beside her, he made himself comfortable, and she could tell he was staring at her expectantly. Dammit. Didn't he have his own place? Why was he climbing into her bed in the middle of the night? What was wrong with him?

After her encounter with Dave in the cemetery three years earlier, Courtney could only describe her state of mind as 'shaken.' So she did the one thing that she always did when she felt as though she were teetering on the edge of insanity. She called John. And, as he promised, he had been at her apartment waiting by the time she got home that night.

She never told him about seeing Dave, for fear that he would think she was crazy and run the other direction. The closest she came to an admission was telling John that Randy had confessed his guilt to her, but that she doubted he was telling her the whole truth. She predicted that the evidence in the case was circumstantial, at best, and that even her hesitant testimony wouldn't be enough to put him away.

John stuck around for the entire week that the trial continued, and then held her while they watched the jury return a 'Not Guilty' verdict on all counts. He stuck around for another week after that while Courtney faced the vultures at a press conference to withdraw her name from the Senate race. And though he'd had every intention of returning to his own home, she'd asked him to stick around just one more week after that. Courtney granted Barbara Walters a rare interview, discussing everything from her marriage to Dave, to her relationship with Randy and the trial, and her public feuds with Hunter and dropping out of politics.

It was stressful, sitting by and watching her climb mountain after arduous mountain, her brave, Courtney Lane smile firmly in place at all times. It was harder to watch the facade crumble every time she would walk through the door at the end of another grueling day. But it was hardest of all to walk away the morning she woke up and told him that he needed to get back to his own life. That she would be okay on her own.

She didn't tell him, at the time, that watching him walk away was nearly impossible. For the first time, though, Courtney could see the carousel she had been on for most of her life. Her father had picked her up each time she fell as a child. Then John had slipped in. Then Dave. Randy. Nitro. John again. The cycle had to stop. And she had to be the one to pump the brake.

After selling the villa in Italy, Courtney spent a few months traveling, desperately seeking a purpose all her own. Road-tripping around the United States opened her eyes to a plight she'd been otherwise unaware of, and the embers of an idea began to smolder in her mind. By the time she returned to Manhattan, she knew, for the first time in twenty-eight and a half years, exactly what she wanted to do with her life. She found a serenity she'd never known as she threw herself into forming a foundation to provide funding for rehab centers in low-income communities ravaged by drug abuse and other forms of addiction.

Three months into the organization of the foundation, there was a knock at her office door, and Courtney couldn't help squealing and launching herself into John's arms. Just as they always had, the pair's schedules had come between their desire to keep in constant contact. But there had been such passion and excitement in Courtney's recent text messages, every time she mentioned the foundation, and John couldn't wait to see the sparkle in her eyes again for himself.

For her part, Courtney couldn't say that the glint in John's own blue orbs was any less thrilling. Especially when he dropped a bomb of his own on the lunch time conversation that afternoon. Contract negotiations in the wake of his free agency had led him to sign a two-year, multi-million dollar deal with the New York Giants. He was going to be moving to the city! And Courtney wasn't sure that any news in the past five years had made her heart flop the way it did at his announcement.

John bought an apartment in Courtney's building and ate most of his meals at her house when he was in town, even when she wasn't there. Her refrigerator was always better-stocked than his, anyway. She watched all of his home games from the VIP box, and his away games at his place, even though he was obviously not there with her. His hi-def flat screen was far more impressive than her television anyway. And on the rare occasion that they were in the city at the same time, they never slept alone, either.

Neither wanted to call it a relationship. John insisted that he was still married to his career, far too much to give Courtney the kind of commitment that she deserved. And Courtney shrugged it off, saying that she needed to focus her attention on helping other people for once in her life. But it was obvious to anyone who saw them together that John and Courtney's bond was as real now as it had ever been in high school.

Even Courtney's parents, who had always disapproved of her penchant for 'shacking up' with men who had offered her no promise of a future, agreed that John was the only man she'd ever loved who truly, equally loved her back. No matter how unconventional the terms, they saw it as a reflection of the healthy lifestyle that Courtney was building for herself, and they couldn't argue with that. The fact that it was John's insistence in Courtney repairing her estranged relationship with Sean and Alissa that led to their reconciliation after more than a year didn't hurt her parents' perception of the young man, either.

Three years after starting her foundation, Courtney could honestly say that she was happy with her life just as it was. She was at peace. She had everything that she had always wanted, but didn't know she was seeking. A career that she loved. An amicable relationship with her parents. A man she knew she could count on, no matter the status of their union. Everything was as it should be.

Except when a board meeting for said career called for her to awaken at seven in the morning, and dinner with said parents had kept her out until after eleven. And then said man had the nerve to let himself into her home at two o'clock in the morning for a heart-to-heart. Then, Courtney thought, her life was kind of shitty.

After a solid ten minutes of silence, Courtney found herself growing more alert. And pissed off. "Okay, I'll bite," she finally said, rolling over to face the man beside her.

"Shhh," John shook his head. He was lain over the covers, dressed in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, with his baseball cap still resting atop his head. Arms behind his head, his face tilted toward the ceiling and his eyes closed. "I'm tryin' to sleep here, Court," he chided.

But Courtney wasn't in the mood for his teasing. Not after he'd so rudely woken her up in her own house. Fighting out from under the covers, she smacked his arm and rolled her eyes when he flinched like it had actually hurt, but didn't bother to sit up. "Come on," she stated firmly. "What's the news?"

Though John wanted to draw it out, he couldn't hide the grin that stretched across his lips. He had never been very good at hiding things. Especially when it concerned his career. "You sure?" he asked, opening one eye and turning his head toward her. Their faces mere inches apart, he took a moment to study the childlike gleam in her eyes when she nodded. God, she was as beautiful as the first day he'd seen her. Back when they were just awkward kids at boarding school. "Signed my contract tonight," he winked.

"With who?" Courtney asked flatly. It wasn't that she wasn't happy with him. She knew that John hated contract negotiations, but his two-year deal with New York was up and it was time to decide his next plan of attack. He'd asked her one night, in the afterglow of quite possibly the best sex they'd ever had with anyone ever, if she wanted him to re-sign and stick around. She had informed him that his career was his baby, and she didn't feel comfortable telling him what to do about it. And she had kicked herself for the decision every day since.

Maybe if she would have just opened her mouth and told him that the thought of letting him move away from her broke her heart into a thousand pieces, he wouldn't have even entertained deals from Dallas and Seattle and Indianapolis. Even Pittsburgh, which wasn't so far away, seemed like a different planet when John talked about moving there. She didn't want him to go. She wanted him in New York. With her. But they weren't in a relationship, so she bit her tongue and played it off. She even pretended to be happy for him every time he mentioned a new place that might be interested.

John watched as a myriad of emotions played across her delicate features. "Well," he pulled the hat from his head and dropped it to the floor beside the bed, "Dallas upped their offer at the eleventh hour," he explained. "Almost double what New York was offering me to come back." John had never known Courtney to be much of a crier, so the rush of tears that she hurriedly tried to blink back caught him off guard. Raising his thumb, he wiped it over her closed eye before going on. "It's a lot of money, Court," he tried to explain.

Sucking her bottom lip between her teeth, she nodded and covered his hand on her face with her own. "I know," she whispered. It _was _a lot of money. And this was John's livelihood. He had to do what was best for him. She knew that. She didn't like it, but she knew it. "So, Dallas, huh?"

He just leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her full lips. "I don't wanna go to Dallas," he whispered against her mouth before taking the lip she'd just been worrying between her teeth in his own. Releasing it, he trailed soft kisses across her cheek. "I wanna stay in New York, Court," he pleaded as he pressed a kiss to her neck, just below her ear. "I wanna stay with you."

Startled, she pulled back, though his hand on her neck made it difficult. Gripping his wrist, she stared into his eyes like a deer in headlights. "John," she started. They didn't make career decisions based on each other. They weren't that couple. They weren't a couple at all. They had decided that together. He couldn't just change the rules without consulting her first. That wasn't how they worked.

"Listen to me," John just shook his head and released his grip on her, sitting to lean against the headboard. "I'm not nineteen anymore, Courtney," he said, watching as she sat, too. She looked as terrified as he felt and it nearly shut him up. "Back then, I thought that you would wait for me forever, ya know? I mean, even when you broke up with me, I thought that you would wait." He shook his head at his own naivete. That kid seemed like some complete stranger now. "We were made for each other, ya know? And I thought that meant that we'd find our way back to each other. After you were in the Senate and I was a pro linebacker, we'd just still be waiting for each other.

"And then you met Dave, and even Orton," he sneered at the name of the skinny-ass kid from their class at St. Johns, "and I met people that don't even seem important enough to mention anymore. We both moved on. Life moved on." Emotion caught in his throat that he hadn't been expected. Clearing his throat, he took her hand and held it against his thigh. "And somehow, we managed to find each other again anyway." Blinking back tears when hers began to fall, he couldn't help chuckling. "God, I'm such a fucking pussy right now," he laughed outright when she did. "The guys would kick my ass."

Using her free hand to wipe his tears as he had done with hers moments ago, Courtney leaned forward and pressed a kiss to John's cheek before whispering in his ear, "The guys aren't here."

Again, he laughed. He couldn't help it. Not when she was so close. Laughter always seemed to bubble out of him when he was close to Courtney. Like she filled him with it and it had no choice but to spill over his lips. "No, they're not," he agreed, tightening his grip on her hand. "Point is, Court, I was stupid back then. Stupid enough to believe that we could wait forever, if we had to." He just shook his head and collected his thoughts. He'd come this far, after all. "I don't wanna make that mistake again." Dropping his head between his shoulders, he waited for her to say something.

Confused, Courtney used her forefinger and thumb to trap John's chin and draw his gaze to her face. Her brow furrowed. "Are you saying you didn't sign with Dallas? Or you did and you wish you hadn't? Or you want me to move to Dallas?"

"Please tell me you wouldn't move to Dallas," he pleaded, his eyes squeezed in anticipation of her answer. When she blurted 'hell no', he sighed in relief. "Oh, thank God," he breathed. "Cause if I gave up all that damn money to be with you, and then you said you'd move?" He just shook his head at the very thought.

But Courtney wasn't smiling. She was too caught up in the meaning of his words to get the joke. "John, you turned down twice as much money to be with me? That's not a smart move." It wasn't that she wasn't flattered. But they weren't even really together. Why would he do that?

Licking his lips, John fought the grin for as long as he could, but she was so sincere. It was too cute not to smile. "Baby," he whispered, moving his hand to her neck and allowing his thumb to trail gently across the apple of her cheek, "You know how much I'm worth. I ain't gonna miss a couple more million, ya know?" When she rolled her eyes, he chuckled. "Only thing I need now is you, a'ight? So stop bein' difficult and let me have ya."

"What am I?" Courtney asked, offense radiating from her wide eyes. "An accessory now?" John just sighed and pulled her in, crushing his lips to hers. And though a tiny voice in her head screamed for her to slow down and think about what she was doing, about what it would mean beyond this moment, her heart screamed for her to surrender to the only man she had ever trusted to love her purely. Even as they matured and their experiences broadened, it was an innocent, first-time love that Courtney felt with John. "I love you, Johnny," she murmured when he finally tore his lips from hers.

Laying her back against the pillow, John cradled Courtney's cheeks in his palms and smiled so wide it nearly split his face in two. "I love you, too, Courtney. Since the day I met you."

From the Other Side, two redeemed souls observed the scene intently.

"You satisfied?" Dave asked the eternally young blond. It was a tight leash on which they now observed their loved ones, only allowed for a few select hours at a time. But their heartfelt appeal to the Higher Power, along with their solemn vow to never again interfere with the living was met with mercy and forgiveness. And both knew it was better than the brief period they'd spent with no access at all.

If she'd been able to cry, Trish would have needed two boxes of tissues as she watched her son strip his sweatshirt over his head and cross the bedroom to kill the lights for the night before settling under the covers to declare his love for the only woman she'd always known was meant for her little boy. "It's all I've ever wanted for him. Complete happiness." Turning from her place on the other end of his couch, she raised a sculpted eyebrow. "Question is: Are you?"

Dave couldn't help nodding. He'd done everything he could to control every situation, and in the end? All he managed to learn was that peace comes in letting go. It was a frustrating lesson at times, but one that he couldn't deny as he listened to Courtney giggle and profess her love to John. "Let's give 'em some privacy, huh?"

The platform went dark. He would check in on his Princess's happily-ever-after from time-to-time, but for now? It was finally enough for him just to know that she would have one. And that he, maybe, in some small way, helped that happen.


End file.
